Tropicália or the book of the vigilantes
by SeteEntediados
Summary: Vigilantes defend Lima from a local mafia group without knowing that the danger may be closer than they might think.
1. Tropicalia

Some important considerations:

1 - The songs are in Portuguese and the translation of the mentioned verses goes at the end of each chapter;

2 - Also at the end of the chapter will be posted comments on artists and video suggestions on Youtube.

3 – Review!

…

TROPICÁLIA OR THE BOOK OF THE VIGILANTES.

" _Sobre a cabeça os aviões/ sob meus pés os caminhões/ aponta contra os chapadões meu nariz/ eu organizo o movimento/ eu oriento o carnaval/ eu inauguro o monumento no planalto central do país_ "(1)

"Stop it", director William Schuester got up from his chair. "Finn, try to put a little more straight in your voice. Not yet on point. Think that's the character's epiphany. You have to be emphatic."

"I'm doing my best, Mr. Schue, but I don't understand this song."

"The show is about purisms versus..."

"How did this idiot get the lead role?" Santana Lopez, who was sitting at the back of the theater, whispered to her next colleague as the director explained for the umpteenth time the concept of the show.

"Because he's Rachel Berry's boyfriend, the star of the show, and Mr. Schue wouldn't put an actor in a wheelchair, even if he's the best actor in the group, to be the center of attention," replied Mercedes Jones.

"I don't know if I thank you or curse you for reminding me," Santana growled.

"You know that Mr. Schue has ambitions this year." Artie Abrams tried to soften. "This is the first time that our theater works on a non-miserable budget. Finn is a popular guy in this town and he has the right stepfather."

Finn Hudson was stepchild of Burt Hummel, aspiring politician who was part of the Municipal Council. It was the type of office in which well-intentioned people, still without partisan ties or a fair amount of money for campaigning, were able to elect themselves into political office in a small town. Either that or simply join the educational board that oversaw and legislate on some local school issues as long as they don't circumvent state and federal principles. For example, a school council could prohibit activities that can be carried out at school on Wednesday evenings because this is the time when church masses usually take place in the city. Even if a person declares himself an atheist, he must respect the rule, after all, the majority of the population that believes in God must fulfill the religious obligation and the school can't compete with it. This also applies to agnostics.

Finally, Burt is part of the Municipal Council responsible for legislating on the rules that govern the county. He was elected not by being the owner of the largest mechanical workshop in the city, but by being a technical assistant and one of the sponsors of the baseball Razors, the city's most popular high school team and the owner of 4 state and 16 regional titles over the years. Burt won the chair in a direct election held every four years that occurred one year after the municipal elections for mayors, police commissioners and prosecutors.

In theory, Burt Hummel was a privileged vote that received a salary to discuss and propose rules of social and political conduct of that county. In practice, it was only a conservative whose biggest liberal campaign was in providing punishment for practices of racial and sexuality prejudice. Action motivated by the bullying suffered by Kurt Hummel, his only biological child, during a certain moment of his school life. Kurt was homosexual.

Finn Hudson was Burt's stepson and benefited from the public figure of his stepfather. He appeared in the social column of the local newspaper sponsored by the government. He wasn't academically smart enough to be accepted into the university based in the city. Nor was he interested in any subject in community college. Finn was a mechanic who helped run Burt's workshop, and twice a week he worked as a technical assistant for the Titans, the football team of a traditional junior high school. That was enough for him to be admired. And also by the physical appearance that made him desirable. Finn, as well as Kurt, belonged to the amateur theater and it was because of them and of the political influence of Burt that William Schuester obtained the surprising budget to make viable the assembly of the spectacle Tropicália. Surprising given the nature of the leftist story of the play.

Not that the money was so great and there were certain savings to consider. An example: none of the actors were there for a salary. Starting with the director himself, who made his living as a history teacher. Many of the people also volunteered, such as Emma Pilsburry, the assistant director (and Schuester's wife).

The star of the group was Rachel Berry. She was the best singer, despite not being the best actress. She was a hardworking student of Performing Arts and Communication at Community College, a waitress and singer at the city's most elegant restaurant, and Finn Hudson's girlfriend. She, Kurt, and Finn formed a united and influential trio within community theater. All three were Schuester alumni during high school, when they joined amateur theater. They were also the original remnants of the project alongside Noah Puckerman and Tina Chang. Throughout the group's six years of existence, many people have stepped in and out, such as Sam Evans, another from the original group who left the city to continue their academic education elsewhere. The current group had established itself about a year ago when Tina invited colleagues from the University to join the theater.

Santana Lopez, Mercedes Jones and Artie Abrams moved to the city because of the University. The journalism student Mercedes used to sing in the choir of her hometown church. The theater was a way to continue feeding her supposed artistic vein, even though she was a good singer, but a fiasco as an actress. Santana, a student of architecture and urbanism, was more interested in getting into the pants of dance teacher (and choreographer hired for the show along with Mike Chang) Brittany Pierce. Artie Abrams, who was network engineer, only accompanied his friends and was by chance a good actor.

Outside the wonder trio and college group were Quinn Fabray, a saleswoman at the bookstore and a mother. The theater functioned as therapy. Matt Rutherford, a carpenter, was with her.

"That's not working..." Schuester lamented after Finn Hudson's always below-acceptable performance.

"How about trying the replacement?" Santana shouted from the back of the auditorium.

"How about shutting up?" Rachel protested from the stage.

"I know a great way to keep my mouth shut." She flashed a confident smile, a defiant look, and relaxed arms against the small theater armchair. It was the kind of attitude that made Rachel Berry mad with anger.

"Guys!" The director called out, "Concentration here, please. Finn, one more time. Rachel, Puck, Quinn and Brittany on the markings."

The tall amateur actor took a deep breath. He stared into the back of the theater where the other castmates were watching the boring rehearsing one of the scenes that in theory should impact the show under construction. But it wasn't easy for Finn Hudson. Despite hearing that he was special from the mouths of people he loved, Santana Lopez's taunts and Schuester's frustration reminded him that he was rather mediocre for such an occupation.

The recognition that Finn wasn't good enough wasn't something simple for the 21-year-old who was used to pampering. The colleagues had no idea of the exercise of humility that Finn had to do in order not to burst or give up. On the other hand, the chance that he would be the star next to his talented girlfriend was a message he gave to others who, though intellectuals and cunning, could do nothing within a field in which he dominated. He might not know how to make calculations like Artie, write like Mercedes, dance like Mike and Brittany, sing like Rachel, act like Quinn, draw like Santana. It didn't matter, nothing took away the fact that he was a leader.

Who didn't want to be the highlight of something? Show to people that he was special. Finn also had vanity. He took a deep breath and tried to sing again.

" _Sobre a cabeça os aviões/ sob meus pés os caminhões/ aponta contra os chapadões meu nariz/ eu organizo o movimento/ eu oriento o carnaval/ eu inauguro o monumento no planalto central do país/ Viva a bossa-sa-sa-sa/ Viva a palhoça-ça-ça-ça..._ "

"Stop!" He heard the director's cry again. Schuester, frustrated, got up from his chair and ran his hand over his face. He himself was exhausted. "Finn and folks, we're all tired. So let's close for today and here is your homework: practice. At our next meeting we'll rehearse this scene, okay?"

The exit from the theater was fast. The "college students" were the first to leave. Santana had this old Ford sedan, a 16-year-old car her parents gave to her as a gift for being accept to the University (she was the first of her family). It became the main transport of her two best friends as well. Puckerman said privately to Finn that he has a girlfriend waiting for him. He always had some among dazzling girls and women who were just after a good fuck and used the 'pucksaurus' as a relief for their itch. Quinn took her usual ride with Matt, who lived in the same building, two stories below. The saleswoman couldn't wait to get home and put her feet up. With luck, the nanny put Quinn's daughter, little Beth, to sleep, and so Quinn would pay the 20 dollars due and celebrate the extra rest. Tina would ride Mike and Brittany. She still lived with her parents (she didn't think it made any sense to pay for a dormitory when she was studying in her hometown), and Mike and Brittany's houses were on the way.

Kurt, Finn and Rachel, as well as Schuster, were the ones who turned out the lights and locked the doors. Finn put his hand on Rachel's shoulders and strode to the truck in the parking lot.

"It was just a bad rehearsal." Rachel sought to motivate her boyfriend. "I'm sure Friday will be a lot better. This is really a difficult song, full of nuances. I'll help you with the exercises and you'll improve one hundred percent in two days."

"Not wanting to cut the romance, but can we leave?" Kurt said bored.

Finn nodded to his ever-enthusiastic girlfriend and turned on the ignition. Rachel searched the radio for a station she thought was interesting, and the two of them returned home in the soft voice of Nara Leão, coincidentally an artist they have to cover on the play. The soft song that came out of the boxes of the truck had soft images: " _o barquinho vai, a tardinha cai_ ".(2)

"I hate bossa nova," Kurt grunted.

Bossa nova had no divas for his exotic taste. Kurt was a fan of singers like Dolores Duran. In spite of the popular belief of melancholic songs, merely because it was fashionable at the time, Dolores Duran was a cheerful, fun woman with a strong voice. Dolores wrote the most beautiful post-sex song of all times: " _É de manhã/ Vem o sol/ mas os pingos da chuva que ontem caíram/ ainda estão a brilhar/ ainda estão a dançar/ vento alegre/ que me traz esta canção..._ "(3)

"I don't care if you don't like the song." Finn said.

"It's relaxing and I need to relax." Rachel ended the brief discussion.

"Should I leave you at home?" Finn asked, hoping his girlfriend had another idea. Luckily, for him, Rachel denied and decided to go to her boyfriend's place.

Kurt was left in front of the small three-story building. Finn and Rachel headed for Finn's studio apartment. They went upstairs like a bored old couple, entered the private space carrying out routines like hanging the coat and leave the shoes at the door.

"Hungry?" Finn asked. Rachel liked to eat something before the sexual activities she was sure would happen. The girlfriend would never sleep there if it weren't for fucking.

"A little bit."

"I can make a sandwich for us."

"Do it. I'm just going to have a shower before, okay? "

Finn nodded. As Rachel poured the salt out of her body for an intense day, Finn went to the kitchen counter to prepare a snack. He turned on the television on the news channel. The press still echoed the action of an alleged group of anonymous vigilantes who left two men tied up in front of the police office and left evidences that they were involved in a pedophilia scheme.

"Who said that Batman only lives in Gotham." He put his typical half smile on his face and finished the snack.

"Seeing something interesting?" Rachel left the bathroom wearing her boyfriend's clean t-shirt. Finn always think Rachel was sexy when she wore his clothes.

"Now I am." The smothered smile widened.

Rachel kissed him before eating the sandwich. Losers also had moments of pleasure.

…

…

(1) Tropicália, by Caetano Veloso

"Over the head the aircraft / under my feet the trucks / points against the high lands, my nose / I organize the movement / I mentor the carnival / I inaugurate the monument in the central plateau of the country"

Music released in 1967 for the Tropicalist movement. Tropicália was a Brazilian artistic movement that rescued the anthropophagic proposal of the Brazilian poet Oswald de Andrade. In the 1920s, he said that Brazilian art should devour all influences (at the time, the modernist proposals of art) and vomit a new one. It was an answer to the conservative critics who defended a genuinely Brazilian art, without 'contamination'. In the 1960s, Brazil lived under a military dictatorship and there was a clash between people who defended the purity of Brazilian music. Ironically, these were the leftists and opponents of the military regime. They especially despised rock (in Brazil it was called Jovem Guarda), because they considered alienated music that endorsed the establishment. The so-called Tropicalists then positioned themselves and made a manifesto saying that all music was good, and that the mix could bring something new.

And the "monument in the central plateau of the country" is the city of Brasília…

Search Youtube: Tropicalia Caetano Veloso

(2) O Barquinho, by Roberto Menescal/ Ronaldo Bôscoli

"The little boat goes, the afternoon falls."

Music of bossa nova's first generation. Although it was one of the most re-recorded Brazilian songs, the most famous version is in Nara Leão's voice. Legend says that the bossa nova born in Nara Leão's apartment in the late of 1950s. Of course this is an exaggeration, since the bossa nova is the fruit of the evolution of the samba-canção and was shaped inside the nightclubs of Rio. But it is a fact that many bossa nova musicians liked to meet in Nara Leão's apartment to play and sing. Nara lived in Copacabana, in an apartment facing the sea. There is a sign in front of the building where she lived saying: "bossa nova was born here".

Search Youtube: O Barquinho Nara Leao

(3) Estrada do Sol, by Tom Jobim/ Dolores Duran

"It's morning / The sun comes / but the raindrops that yesterday fell / are still shining / are still dancing / wind up / that brings me this song ..."

This song made the transition between samba-canção and bossa nova. Composed in 1956, by Tom Jobim and Dolores Duran. Tom Jobim had made the melody and was waiting for the lyrics of the poet Vinicius de Moraes, his close friend. Dolores Duran heard Tom play the melody and she was fascinated. She quickly wrote the lyrics in 15 minutes on a napkin with an eyeliner. Dolores's lyrics were so beautiful and perfect that Vinicius de Moraes humbly withdrew his.

Search Youtube: Estrada do sol Nina Becker


	2. The park

Some important considerations:

1 - The songs are in Portuguese and the translation of the mentioned verses goes at the end of each chapter;

2 - Also at the end of the chapter will be posted comments on artists and video suggestions on Youtube.

3 – Review!

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAIN SCENES OF SEXUAL VIOLENCE.

...

Finn Hudson had a day off at the theater. It meant he had the free night to do whatever he pleased, or almost. Sometimes Carole Hudson-Hummel would call her son and ask him to come to social events with her and his stepfather. Although tedious, Finn liked the delicious food and the free drinks. True parties were the ones promoted by his best friend, Puckerman. There were the dinks, the girls (not that he would cheat on Rachel, but he felt proud of being wanted and having the choice to decline the girls' advances), and especially, the band. Puck played guitar, he played drums and Dave played bass. Power trio. Sometimes they played at other parties. Sometimes they earn some money playing at college parties with other bands in the city. Finn felt good to be in a band playing Raimundos' covers.

" _Eu quero é ver o oco!_ "(1) He would sing with Puckerman.

It's much more delightful than the theater stage. But, of course, there was Rachel and Schuester and he didn't like to disappoint them.

Finn met his best friends for life still in high school. Puck and he played football: Finn as the quarterback, and Puckerman as the halfback. Rachel and Kurt were a year younger and they were always with Tina and Sam Evans. Their world was distinct until Burt married Carole, forcing Finn and Kurt to live under the same roof. Despite the terrible beginning, Finn and Kurt became friends. Kurt's friends quickly became Finn's friends, especially Rachel Berry. In the middle of that school year, Schuester spread posters at school as a call to join an amateur musical theater group, a project he and Emma developed. The four inseparables sighed in, as well Finn, who took Puck and Dave with him. Dave gave up six months later, but the others remained the base of the group between the comes and goes of other people.

Finn and Puck knew their way wasn't the academic one. Finn felt comfortable in the workshop and helping training boys. Puck opened a small business with Dave, where they made minor home repairs, such as unclogging plumbing, setting up furniture, adjusting appliances, cleaning pools, doing little gardening. There was also the undeclared sexual service intended only for the wives whom they both considered interesting.

Rachel, Kurt, Tina, and Sam graduated the year after Finn and Puck. Sam was the only one out of town when he won a scholarship to play baseball, breaking with the solid group. Rachel and Kurt were still frustrated by the non-acceptance at the arts academy, but sought out community college art program in search of an opportunity.

"What are you thinking about?" Rachel cuddled with Finn.

"Nothing interesting."

"Will you see me tonight?"

"I don't know. I'm going to meet the boys later."

"Right." Rachel checked the clock on the wall. "I'm late for my class." She kissed her boyfriend before getting out of bed.

Finn watched as his naked girlfriend began to dress quickly at the side of the bed. He was amused by these moments. Rachel Berry was always like that: too focused on any activity she did. She trained the songs she sings, she did voice exercises with military discipline, selected the repertoire of the presentation in the restaurant, when the waitresses gave a fifteen-minute show, she studied the role in the theater play. This was her routine. A pity that Rachel wasn't lucky enough to get into the art schools she wanted. At least that was Finn's vision: Rachel's wasn't lucky. Rachel's vision was a little different: she wasn't good enough to be accepted at the best arts school in the country. She could get in other programs, but the disappointment in not achieving the goal she drew from an early age was a very hard blow.

It took time to Rachel get over it and understand that she should try again. Only then she enrolled in community college for later apply for a place at the local university. The amateur musical theater was an alternative to get a resume and the fact that she studied Speech, Communication and Theatrical Art was an alternative path to the goals she wanted.

"I still need to come to my place and get my stuffs." Rachel finished dressing.

"Aren't you even going to have breakfast with me?"

"I'm too late." Rachel stepped into the bathroom. She brushed the teeth. "Well you could give me a ride."

Finn spat on the bed, put on his pants and t-shirt. He put on his sneakers and in less than five minutes was closing the door of his studio apartment.

Rachel and Kurt lived in a small two-bedroom apartment. The little diva fought with her protective parents and decided to leave her parent's house to live without their interference and help. Finn asked her to move in with him, but Rachel would rather share the rent with her best friend than settle down with her boyfriend. She thought it was too soon for that. Then, over time, Finn realised that Rachel was right: he was too fond of having his own space.

Rachel got out of the truck with the keys of the apartment in hand. She went upstairs to the second floor. She opened her apartment door and ran to her bedroom, quickly gathered the books. She glanced at the place: Kurt had already left for college, but he forgot the kitchen's window open. Kurt always did that. Rachel lock it and hurried downstairs into her boyfriend's truck.

"You're really late." Finn wondered.

"Unfortunately."

"Do you want me to pick you up today?"

"Aren't you have a date with your friends?"

"Yeah, but…"

"No need. Bye." She gave her boyfriend a peck and run to her class.

Rachel stepped into the classroom and ignored the cross-glances of her classmates. She had grown accustomed to being tricked by others for a long time. Rachel didn't care anymore. As Kurt once said: the mishaps only served to make the success story of both still more beautiful. Why not believe in a better fate than studying by day and serving tables until 10:00p.m? Until midnight on Saturday, when the waitresses perform some songs.

Rachel sat down in her chair and made the usual notes while the professor talked about communication theories that she wasn't necessarily interested in, but which were part of the program.

"It's necessary to be attentive to the meaning of words in each written or oral text", said the professor when delivering a sheet of paper for the students. "Because whether or not my dear ones, the meaning of the language and the message is also political and can be manipulated to promote acceptance of a particular line of thought. In this exercise there are a number of excerpts from factual reports that talk about the same subject, in this case, about the Iraq war, but I want you to identify the subtleties that make the ideas contained there distinct from each other. I want you to identify the ideologies."

Rachel hated that class. She hated to make such an analysis. She hated having to do text interpretations. It wasn't hers. Call it alienated, she didn't care. She was there because of the course of interpretation. The problem was that the course program was somewhat inflexible, and she needed credits to apply to the University. She read the texts, circulated a few key words and wrote some notes. As usual, she made a comment or two with her colleagues and then isolated herself. Or rather, she was isolated. Toward the end of the morning, she crossed the parking lot and the avenue in front of the community college. It was lunchtime and she used to eat in the diner next to the bookstore because it was cheap and the food wasn't that bad. She paid for an orange juice and green salad. Then she bought two chocolate cookies for dessert and got in the bookstore.

Quinn Fabray was in the fiction books session. Her hair was tied in a braid and she was wearing that hideous black uniform, which included a light blue apron. Rachel was amazed by her friend: even in a uniform, Quinn was an beautiful woman.

"Hi." She approached her friend, who wasn't surprised. Rachel liked to visit Quinn sometime, always after school. It's been happening since when Quinn got in the theater group.

"Hey!" Quinn smiled discreetly, then returned to her serious posture. Rachel thought Quinn was moving like royalty, even though she was poor.

"I bought these cookies to Beth." Rachel handed the package of cookies. Quinn willingly accepted it and placed the small package inside the pocket of her apron.

"Thanks. Then I'll send you the dentist's account." Rachel smiled at the little provocation.

"There's nothing wrong with eating a little candy," she said, not bothering that Quinn was aware of other shoppers' movement. "We didn't have a chance to talk at the rehearsals yesterday."

"Yeah." Quinn was in monosyllabic mode. Signal that Rachel's presence wasn't so welcomed at that time. Not that Rachel was undesirable in Quinn's eyes, since the girl was one of the few who offered friendship without want something in return. Besides, Beth liked the Rachel. She was one of the few who had patience with the five-year-old when Quinn bring the little girl to rehearsals when she can't afford the nanny.

"Busy day?" Rachel looked confused, because her friend didn't look after anyone or even had clients in sight.

"The manager is in a bad mood today. He knows you don't always come in here as a customer." The manager was a methodical guy who demanded blood and sweat until the last minute of the office hour. But that was one of the few part-time, reasonably-salaried jobs that Quinn could manage, and she couldn't lose it.

"Oh!" Rachel nodded. "Well, I just came by to deliver Beth's dessert. Tell her I say hi and that I miss her."

"Thanks."

Rachel left the bookstore a little frustrated, but aware that she shouldn't take any of it personally. As usual, she studied in the small college library instead to get back to her place as Kurt use to do. It was more economical to stay there and study until it was time to get on the bus to work.

Rachel went to work listening and singing the song she needed to perform in the play .

" _Atenção ao dobrar uma esquina/ Uma alegria, atenção menina/ Você vem, quantos anos você tem?/ Atenção, precisa ter olhos firmes/ Pra este sol, para esta escuridão/ Atenção, tudo é perigoso/ Tudo é divino, maravilhoso/ Atenção para o refrão/ É preciso estar atento e forte/ não temos tempo de temer a morte._ " (2)

Rachel whispered the lyrics, closed her eyes and focused on the words and tried to imagine the scene where her character climbs on a counter and speaks as a leader. It was the best moment of her character in the play.

" _Atenção ao dobrar uma esquina..._ " She hummed as she wore her uniform: a light-fitting suit, an black apron with the name of the restaurant and a badge with her first name.

The hair had to be tied in a net. The nails had to be well cut by the owner's determination and for the sake of hygiene. While the restaurant was still closed, the staff would organize everything and clean the floor and the tables. The restaurant opened at four o'clock. Rachel use to work until the restaurant close the doors. It was what allowed her to go to the musical theatre rehearsals twice a week.

That night was quiet. Unfortunately, she didn't answer customers who left the minimum tip. Well, it wasn't every day that some executive rich guy shows up willing to leave $ 50 tip. Rachel once earned $ 100 tip from a client after she sang on a Saturday's performance. She was happy with the extra money until such a client suggested to her accompany him after work. That there was so much more waiting for her. Rachel smiled politely and declined the client. But she took the $ 100 tip anyway. She wasn't that proud and she had a rent to pay.

Rachel said goodbye to her colleagues around 11pm when the restaurant was closed. She put her clothes on again, took her backpack, and walked out in the dead of night. Rachel never had a problem walking the streets of the city. Finn and Kurt always expressed their concern about Rachel coming home alone, but she said there was no problem. The route wasn't so long, the streets had good lighting and policing.

" _Atenção ao dobrar uma esquina..._ " The music didn't leave her head.

Rachel should have paid attention to what she was singing. In order to pick up a shortcut, that night, she decided to go inside the park instead of circling it. The park was a large green area with a few recreational areas and hiking trails where people would crowd in for workouts in the early morning and late afternoon. The park also connected the university campus with downtown. Rachel lived in a neighbourhood between one place and another. Her apartment was on a street with affordable renting because of the number of students who preferred to live there rather than in dormitories.

The only problem to go by the shortest route was that the park had poor lighting and little policing at that hour. But Rachel wasn't negligent. She always walked fast every time she pass through the park. She had never had any trouble until she found a man standing in front of her with a knife in his hands.

"Don't shout," he said softly. "Give me your wallet and cell phone that everything will be alright."

Rachel's legs were trembling, her heart was racing. She was barely sure if she was even breathing. Dying of dread, she handed her wallet and cell phone as the robber requested. He was desperate for money and Rachel was the first person he assaulted. But seeing the victim tremble caused a devilish empowerment to pass through his head. The man stared at her and seemed to change his mind. Perhaps he was more malicious and obscure than he imagined.

"Come with me," he grabbed Rachel's arm, still threatening her with the knife.

Rachel disengaged herself and tried to run, but he caught up with her and knocked her to the ground. Rachel screamed, but no one appeared. The man grabbed her by the collar of her blouse and pointed the knife at her neck.

"If you scream again, you die." The man pulled her out of the park lane toward the trees of the urban forest.

Rachel was crying as she imagined what was about to happen. The assailant threw her against a tree. She tried to fight, but he was stronger and still had a weapon he wouldn't hesitate to use. In the futile fight, Rachel still dropped his cap, but she was so nervous she could not even pay attention to the aggressor's face. She was punched in the face by screaming, another one in the pit of her stomach and quickly she was pinned to the ground.

"Quiet," The man whispered as he moved between her legs and tried to keep her immobilized. But Rachel was still struggling, even though she knew it was useless. She got another punch in her stomach, another slap in her face. "I said, quiet or I'll kill you after I fuck you."

She felt angry at his hands rubbing against her sex. She gave a little weeping cry when her panties were ripped out and a finger penetrated her, as it wanted to make room.

"Do you like that, little girl?"

She closed her eyes and waited for the worst. By then she just wished he was fast. That he would penetrate her at once, make her bleed, and finished in two minutes. His finger retreated.

"I will fuck you so good."

She heard the sound of the zipper of his pants come down. Rachel was completely overpowered and waiting. She closed her eyes and wept in anticipation. It was only a matter of seconds before he penetrates her quickly and violently.

But the worst didn't come. The weight of the aggressor's body disappeared. She looked to the side and saw the man rolling down the low grass of the park and a person passing over her towards the subject. This one was beating hard with the fists against the flesh of the other, who tried to react, but couldn't. The ninja masked person knocked the rapist until it saw blood, until the other one lost consciousness. The final blow was kick between his legs. Rachel, completely shaken and shocked, wanted to run away, but she couldn't. Her legs didn't work. Maybe the saviour could turn into another rapist. She couldn't think straight or move.

The supposed saviour came to her. Rachel began to cry, thinking that masked person was going to be another rapist. But instead of an attack, a hand was offered. It took some good seconds for Rachel to take in the gentle gesture.

"Are you hurt?"

"He hit me hard... he tried to… he put his finger…"

"I'm so sorry!" The ninja masked person said. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be here sooner."

Rachel didn't answer. She just cried on the shoulders of a complete stranger.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" The person said again softly, cautious.

"I just want to go home."

"You should go the de police, then."

"No, I just want to go home."

The masked person helped Rachel to stand up and recovered the wallet and other Rachel's belongings.

"I won't hurt you, ma'am. I would like to accompany you to your home. Can you walk?"

"Y-yes."

"Very well."

They walked slowly. Rachel felt strangely secure in the stranger's company so that she leaned her head against its shoulder and allowed it to wrap her waist. They didn't exchange any word for the rest of the way. To Rachel's surprise, the masked person left her in the alley next to the building where she lived. The masked walked away and ran unceremoniously toward the wall at the end of the alley, which was scaled in no time. Rachel dragged her backpack up to the concierge and climbed the stairs god knows how. As soon as she set her foot in the house, she burst into tears again. Her mind was so confused that she didn't even stop to wonder how the other knew exactly where she lived.

"Rachel?" Kurt left his room into the living room. When she saw his friend's condition, he ran to her. "My God, Rach, what happened?"

There was no immediate explanation. A friend's shoulder was more important.

…

Hours after the crime and the trauma, Rachel, already with a cup of tea in hand and bath taken, was sitting on her bed. She was able to tell Kurt the general lines of what happened.

"You need to go to the police, Rach."

"I'll say what? My backpack is here, all my things is here and the worst hasn't happened, even though I still feel his hands on me..." She paused to control the urge to vomit. She couldn't help the disgust of the sensation that the memory caused. "I don't have nothing to say. I can't."

"How come you don't? I don't believe what I'm hearing. You have a black eye, a wrinkled face, a sliced lip, there are marks on your neck and he raped you down there, even if it was only with his disgusting fingers. You know what that is, Rach, and you need to go to the police. "

"Kurt, please don't!"

"Someone needs to take care of this thug so he doesn't do that to anyone else."

"Someone's taken care of."

"A masked man who can be a mere thief with some decency? That is not enough, it's not right. Didn't you think about it? "

"Doesn't matter. Thief or not, he saved me."

"That doesn't change the fact that you were raped."

"Please Kurt..." Rachel started to cry again.

"At least call Finn."

"No! He'll know what happened, but not now. I don't want it. I just want one of those pills to sleep and sleep, for god sake." She wiped the tears from her face.

"This guy who saved you? The such masked? Any idea who he is? Do you think he was one of those vigilantes?"

Rachel shook her head and lowered her eyes.

"It doesn't matter, Kurt. Vigilante or not, it doesn't matter."

...

(1) Eu quero é ver o oco, by Raimundos

" _I want to see the mess_ " (or something like that)

Raimundos was the most popular brazilian rock band of the 1990s. It was known for mixing punk and HC with Brazilian rhythms. Raimundos also sang dirty and explicit lyrics. Let's just say it wasn't a band that would please feminists. 'Eu quero é ver o oco' was one of Raimundos' main hits.

Search Youtube: Raimundos eu quero é ver o oco

(2) Divino, Maravilhoso, by Caetano Veloso

"Attention to turn a corner / A joy, attention girl / You come, how old are you? / Attention, you must have firm eyes / To this sun, to this darkness / Attention, everything is dangerous / Everything is divine, wonderful / Attention to the chorus / We must be watchful and strong / we don't have time to fear death."

'Divino, Maravilhoso' is one of the tracks of the album manifesto 'Tropicália or Panis Et Circenses'. Composed by Caetano Veloso, Gal Costa was the one who sing the track. She's considered by the magazine Rolling Stone Brazil the seventh most important voice of Brazilian music. 'Divino, Maravilhoso' is the most explicitly combative song on the album. This song gave the name to the TV show presented by tropicalians in 1968. This program was only broadcast in three occasions. When the military dictatorship arrested Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil for the first time, the director of 'Divino, Maravilhoso', Rodrigo Faro, burned all the recording tapes because he thought that the military would use them as evidence against the singers. The only thing that left of this TV show was some photos and the testimony of those who lived at the time.

Search Youtube: Divino maravilhoso Gal Costa


	3. Pain

Some important considerations:

1 - The songs are in Portuguese and the translation of the mentioned verses goes at the end of each chapter;

2 - Also at the end of the chapter will be posted comments on artists and video suggestions on Youtube.

3 – Review!

...

"But didn't you see who he was?" Finn insisted on the interrogation.

"For the last time, this person wore those ninja mask and it was dark. He wasn't a bad guy... at least I don't think so." Rachel was distressed by the succession of questions.

She didn't go to the classes that day and warned the restaurant that she couldn't go work due to an assault. Rachel thought if she would spend the day in bed recovering from the violence she had suffered the night before, that her boyfriend might just take care of her. And forget it. All she wanted was to forget and move on, even though she knew it would be impossible to erase the aggression. Her vagina still felt as if the muscles had their own memory.

"What I know," Rachel made a gesture of frustration. It was irritating Finn that wanted to know more about the saviour than about the aggressor. "Was that if it weren't for this vigilante, or whatever, I would have been brutally raped and even killed. I was threatened with death, Finn! That's why I don't care who this vigilante or nice burglar was or what he was doing around there. The guy saved me and pretty much left me at home."

"Did you say where you lived?" Finn asked in horror.

This finally came to achievement. No. She didn't say where she lived. What did that mean? That the thief was watching her? Was it a coincidence?

"Can't you see you're in danger, Rach? We should call the police." Kurt insisted.

"No police, okay? I don't think he represents danger. At least not for me."

"This masked guy maybe. But what about the other one. Don't you think he would try to do it with another woman?" Rachel knew that Kurt was right. But she had no strength. Telling the police would perpetuate a pain that she desperately wanted to forget.

"Please! Just don't!"

"Okay... right..." Finn sat on his girlfriend's bed and tried to calm down. "And the guy who tried... you know..." He wasn't able to say the word, not exactly out of shame or for childishness. He was angry with himself for not being there for his girlfriend. Omitting certain words helped ease guilt and pain.

"It was dark. He wore a cap, had wavy hair, a square chin, a thin beard... he was strong. I couldn't face him precisely to remember his features, Finn. I just have flashes."

"Maybe you don't have to." Kurt showed the tablet screen to his stepbrother. It was the local news site. "This news is from this morning." Kurt began to read aloud.

" _Howard Battes, 36, was found today handcuffed by a post near the metropolitan hospital. The metallurgist had a cardboard sign hanging around his neck saying: 'I am a rapist.' Police were called to investigate the case. Howard showed signs of severe physical violence and was referred to surgery for treatment of various fractures on his face, ribs and the sexual organ. The patient is in the intensive care unit, but isn't at risk of death._

 _In testimony given to police still in hospital, a witness said the victim was left on the spot by a person whose face was covered by a dark ninja-like mask. Security cameras registered the moment and police are already working to identify the suspect. The incident marks another action of this new vigilante that is acting in the city. In the last month, at least three instances attributed to such masquerade have been registered. Last Wednesday, the elementary teacher Gael James and nursing assistant Donald Smith were found handcuffed to a post near the police department with evidence that they were part of a pedophile network._

 _Despite the approval of the population in relation to the actions of this vigilante, Detective Daniel Belford makes a point of emphasizing that the action of this or these people is dangerous and that they are equally criminals. "If you were a witness to a crime or need to file a complaint, don't hesitate to look for the police," the detective appealed. "This is the best way for people to fulfill citizenship and contribute to maintaining good order in our city. The police have never failed to fulfill the role assigned to them. Do justice with your own hands doesn't contribute to order, but to chaos and anarchy", he concluded. The detective didn't confirm whether he would investigate Mr. Battes for the crime of sexual violence. At the time this writing, the police hadn't reported any allegations of sexual violence._ "

"Now you know who the rapist is." Kurt set the computer aside as soon as he read the news and stood up and folded his arms. "More than ever, you should report, Rachel. This guy could be released as soon as he was discharged from the hospital."

"Kurt." Rachel closed her eyes. "Not now." She tried to squeeze herself into her arms. "I feel awful enough already."

"Rachel, please."

"He didn't put that on me. He didn't have time! The police won't find anything. Just bruises."

"Still! They may find genetic material in your nails, since you have tried to fight back. And look at your face! Look the bruises around your neck."

"I don't want to go through this again!" Rachel screamed. "Leave me alone!"

"Kurt!" Finn warned his stepbrother. "Back off."

"Okay." Kurt was frustrated with his best friend's decision to remain silent.

He didn't want to press Rachel any more than she already was. He was trying to put himself in her shoes. He was trying to remember all the time he was bullied at school for being openly homosexual, and decided to keep the problem out of the eyes of his parents and authorities for almost a whole school year. The fear he felt only aggravated the torment. It was when he created courage and denounced the bullies to the school principal. This was one of the motivations that made Burt create the local anti-bullying law in the city council: his father wanted to guarantee voice and security to the victims and to punish the aggressors. Kurt knew very well the fear and shame that his best friend was feeling at that moment. On the other hand, he knew that silence was worse.

"You want me to call Schue and tell him we won't going to rehearsal tomorrow?" Finn tried to help.

"He's going to ask questions that I don't want to answer." Rachel said.

"Are you going to rehearse?"

"I don't want to see anyone today and maybe nor tomorrow... anyone but you. You two should go, though. Say him I got sick and I'll show up next week, but you have to go. It is our theatre, our play, and we swear to watch over it."

Rachel was referring to the pact that the original five made after the departure of Sam Evans: that while they were in town, they would never stop helping Schuester and Emma with the project.

Kurt left Rachel to Finn's care and went off to work. He was a supervisor at a department store. Kurt worked around the store to see if the shelves were in order, if it needed to replace the products, check the cleaning, fix something here and there, and solve customer doubts. Kurt wasn't satisfied with this job, but at least the money guaranteed the rent and the clothes he liked to wear. He climbed the stairs at the staff entrance and went to the closet in the locker room where he put on the blue polo shirt with the logo of the wholesaler network.

"Precious," said a co-worker as soon as she saw Kurt pick up the radio, his main instrument, and the spreadsheet with the urgencies of the day. "Not that I'm complaining, but you're half an hour late. I had to cover you with our boss."

"I'm sorry. I had an emergency, precious one," he merely explained. "But that has already been resolved."

Kurt smiled at his colleague and rolled his eyes as she turned her back. People had silly attitudes toward him. Because he was the only openly gay there and because he couldn't avoid the effeminate side that was natural to him, there were those, especially the girls, who "crumpled" in his presence to get the message that they liked him or that they are fine to have a homosexual next door. Kurt considered all this a great shit, but in the name of good living, he played with the behaviour of his colleagues.

Kurt began to circulate through the clothing and perfumery department. He chatted quickly with girls from the counters and started working on fixing up the little mess that some customers left when they moved the shelves. He answered common questions from the customers here, paid attention to sales representatives there.

In the moments of boredom, Kurt liked to observe the clientele and to guess facts of their lives and habits based on the way of dressing, posture, way of speaking. On that day, the boredom was broken when he saw a familiar face. Santana was accompanied by another girl he never seen before. She was carrying an empty shopping cart. The stranger looked like a silly, affected girl. At least she was very pretty. Kurt wondered what would make someone smart as well as sexy, wanting such company.

"Hey lady lips." Santana greeted her colleague while her girl was distracted on a shelf farther away.

"Hi! Surprise to see you here." He said with irony. Santana was a costumer of that department store and usually buy office supplies, or rather college supplies, or some junk food.

"That's what happens when there's only one this department store near the campus." She rolled her eyes. "I don't come here for your beautiful eyes, Hummel."

"Interesting friend of yours," Kurt said quietly. "She seems to be too cheerful for someone so cranky."

"Oh, please," Santana said quietly, but in her usual self-confident posture, "I'm just trying to get into her pants."

Kurt wasn't surprised. Santana was also openly gay. Mercedes commented in the intervals of rehearsals how often it was difficult to have Santana as roommate because of the pace she gets girlfriends at the campus, while the black diva had a more monogamous, heterosexual lifestyle. Far from the stereotype, Santana wore nice dresses that valued her body in shape. She was also one of the few lesbians on the campus who attracted a line of straight girls. As was the case of the girl Santana was with. The girl was nothing but a straight white one looking for some adventure and experimentation.

"Are you going to rehearse tomorrow?" Kurt asked and Santana nodded. "Can I ask you a favour?" This time he was more cautious. "It's likely that Finn and Rachel and I won't be able to show up. Rachel is unable to get out of bed. Could you tell Schuester? I don't want to talk with him."

"Problems in paradise?"

"Not at all."

"Sure." Santana frowned. "Is everything okay with Rachel and you guys?"

"Rachel is really indisposed." Kurt said. "She... I don't know if I should say this ... but Rachel was robbed yesterday after work." He thought it best to omit the other part of the story. It wasn't up to him to go into details.

"Oh, my God," the college girl was rightfully worried. "Did they hurt her?"

"Rachel was beaten up," Kurt merely said.

"This is terrible, Kurt. I hope she's well."

"Thank you," he sighed. "That's why we're not going, you know? As much as Rachel insists that I should go rehearsing, I'd rather keep an eye on her."

"It's fair and I understand now why you don't want to talk with Schuester. I'll let the guys know. Don't worry."

"Oh, Santana? Could you tell them that visits aren't wanted right now? It would be a great favour."

"Alright." The conversation between them was interrupted by her friend's approach.

"Good luck." Kurt said good-bye to his colleague and winced a wink.

Kurt shook his head and continued from the boring routine. He sighed. Maybe it was time to start working on another job.


	4. Finn's revenge

Some important considerations:

1 - The songs are in Portuguese and the translation of the mentioned verses goes at the end of each chapter;

2 - Also at the end of the chapter will be posted comments on artists and video suggestions on Youtube.

3 – Review!

…

Arthur 'Artie' Abrams loved college life. At the height of his newly completed 20 years old, the young man breathed achievements into an environment in which he was respected. He wasn't handsome, or attractive enough, despite his strong arms and healthy body that his chair helped maintain. Even so, Artie had some appeal among the female population, unlike what happened during the almost distant high school years when he was the target of the bullies. People could call him a loser because he was a guy in a wheelchair who wore thick-rimmed glasses, attended engineering club, and participated in robotics competitions. A nerd, a target. But he knew he was special and did extraordinary things.

Artie took advantage of the sunny morning under the Steverson building, one of the places that housed the college dorms. The same where his best friends also lived: Santana Lopez and Mercedes Jones. Too bad he didn't enjoy their company at that moment, but he figured Santana should have be with some cheerleader. Or maybe Mercedes was with David Mills, the guy she was kind of dating. He, himself, had a crush on Tina. Artie was in college and it was time to live the youth. In the first year, he discovered the pleasure of casual sex with a classmate. But he wanted more: he wanted a nice relationship. Artie met Tina in one of the classes and fall in love. That why he asked to Santana and Mercedes to join with him at the amateur theatre. It was just a little help he wanted from his friends to stay close to Tina.

"Hi Artie."

The young man turned to the familiar but surprising voice. Artie put his hand on his forehead to protect himself from the sun and looked up. There was the overly tall young man with a smirk on his face that was part of the play. If it were in the theater, Artie wouldn't miss the approach, but Finn Hudson never looked for him on campus before. He never even called him to have a coffee on the street corner after a rehearsal.

"Finn?" Artie was rightfully shocked. "What ... are you passing through here?"

"Actually I came to talk to you." The tall young man looked nervous.

"But ... you didn't even know where I live."

"I have Mercedes phone and she told me... is this a problem?"

"No, of course not. Do you want to talk here or..."

"Here is good!" The tall man put his hands in his pockets still in discomfort. "You are good at computer things and I was wondering if you could help me find a person's address."

Artie wasn't sure what to think about it. They looked at each other and Finn seemed genuinely eager for a positive response.

"Well... have you tried it on Google?"

"I'm not very good with these things."

"Not even with Google?"

Finn didn't respond and by the expression that he made, Artie decided that it wasn't opportune to question or to confront. Artie had, however, the power to say yes or no. Curiosity made him decide for the first option.

"My computer is in my dorm."

The Steverson dorm was one of the cheapest ones provided by the university. The apartments were small and the bathrooms were communal. The reality of the students who inhabited there was parents who saved money their whole life to be able to pay the college, but not much left for other expenses. Artie's mother, for example, was a secretary at a company based in another state. His father had a butcher shop. Santana's father was a taxi driver and her mother worked as a realtor. Mercedes Jones' father was a dentist and her mother lived to make handicrafts to sell at free weekend fairs in the city where she was born.

In common, Artie, Mercedes and Santana were prominent students in their respective schools and studied at the university thanks to a partial scholarship. But their rent and maintenance in the city wasn't the responsibility of the institution and money was little. Artie bought his own computer after numerous private lessons he taught. Mercedes bought hers cutting the grass of the neighbourhood. Santana was dressed well thanks to the numerous jobs while she was still in school, such as delivering a pamphlet, being a nanny and even helping her aunt in the cleaning service.

They were three distinct realities of a Finn Hudson, who always had everything he asked for: car, computer, even the studio apartment he occupied was a gift given by his mother. The job Finn had, the machine shop, was given to him by his stepfather. Not that Finn was a spoiled boy. Maybe he was a little bit, but in fact his reality was distinct from an Artie, just like his motivations.

They climbed the elevator to the fourth floor (Santana and Mercedes lived one floor below). Artie shared the dormitory with Phillip, but they weren't close. The roommate was absent, which generated a less tense situation. Artie picked up the computer from his desk and asked Finn to pick up a chair to sit beside him.

"Very well, whose address do you need to find?"

"Howard Battes." Finn looked closely at Artie's face for some reaction to the name, but from his colleague's neutrality it seemed that he was ignorant of the identity of the villain who attacked and nearly (as Finn liked to think) raped Rachel in the park.

"Finding a person's address is relatively easy." Artie started working on the computer. "Google is a good first step. But when the search engine doesn't provide such information, an alternative is to go to the city's telephone listing service" He spoke while typing. "Some people still have landline and this information is usually public. Usually, we can find it." A few touches on the screen. "What was the case of your friend…" He picked up a piece of paper and began to write down the address. "943 West Crossland Street." Before handed the paper, Artie felt entitled to ask. "What will you do with this information?"

"This guy owe me some money. He left my machine shop without paying for the service, and gave me fake address and phone number." Finn smiled nervously. "Don't worry. I won't knock on that moron's door. I just want to send him the bill."

"OK. Good luck then in the small claims court. "

"As?"

"That's where this kind of charge is sent, right?"

"Ah yes, of course!" He extended his hand to his colleague. "Thank you again for your help."

"You're welcome."

Finn left the room sweating cold. He swiped the paper that wrote down the address and punched it in his pocket. True that the masked vigilante broke the bastard, but Finn had the need to do his part for all that guy had done to Rachel. He got into his truck and took a deep breath. He needed a plan. He couldn't just go out and knock on the guy's door to punch him. In addition, he had to attend a luncheon with his family and Rachel.

He started his car and drove to his parents' house. Rachel and Kurt would go together and everyone would meet there. Burt and Carole's house was a beautiful townhouse in a high middle-class neighbourhood of the city. Finn liked to go to his parents' house only for the comfort of sitting in his favourite armchair in the living room, watching the cable channels and drinking a very cold beer can. Finn kissed her mother affectionately and greeted his stepfather as soon as he arrived. But Finn wasn't well. Obscure thoughts kept him from enjoying the harmonious company.

Rachel and Kurt arrived close to the time when lunch was served. The men sat at the table and talked briefly as Rachel and Carole set the dishes. Everything so naturally patriarchal that no one else made any more observations about home dynamics. Rachel lightly kissed her boyfriend's lips before sitting down next to him. Burt made a brief prayer and soon began to talk with his stepson about the situation of the school team classified for the state phase of the league. They tried not to enter into the merits of Rachel's aggression: the matter was still too painful. Even so, Burt assured that he would place security in the city on the agenda at the next council meeting, even though that despite the robbery cases, the city's crime rate was still lower than the country's average.

"Are you going to see me today?" Rachel sat on her boyfriend's lap after lunch.

Saturday was the day of the waitresses' performances and Rachel used to be the most anticipated attraction among the restaurant regulars.

"I planned something special," she insisted, taking her boyfriend in the inner world of thoughts he was in.

"Of course I will." He smiled a little. "I will see you performing and I will ride you home in safety."

"Thank you." Rachel held her boyfriend's face gently to kiss him.

Rachel was ready to go to work. Despite loving Burt, her story with Carole wasn't so inspiring. She treated her mother-in-law well, played her game, but Carole wasn't necessarily her favourite company. The truth is that Rachel missed home in such familiar moments. She remembered helping one of her dads to make lunch while they sang pieces of music and jingles. Leroy specialized in composing jingles. Hiram was a homeopathic doctor and an acupuncture specialist. Her dads were vegetarian, as so Rachel, something Finn and her in-laws rarely remembered.

Rachel looked at her boyfriend who was talking about the game he and Burt were watching on television. Finn didn't look right. He was tense. Rachel knew him well enough to notice certain details. She wanted to know why. She said goodbye to her in-laws and asked her boyfriend to drop her off at the restaurant. She sighed as if she were tired as she sat in the truck.

"Are you ok?" Finn asked.

"A little sore."

"You should slow down, Rach. Give yourself more time to recover."

"On the contrary, Finn. I need more than ever to regain my confidence as soon as possible. It isn't possible to live in fear even from the shadows. I don't want this for myself. I've never been a fearful woman."

"I know," his voice softened. "I never doubted your inner strength."

Finn left his girlfriend at work and went back to his studio apartment. he lay down on the bed and stared at the address on the crumpled paper. Finn hated that his girlfriend was going through such trials. And all because of an asshole that decided to make money by assaulting people in a dark place. He wanted to do better than the vigilante: he would wipe out that little guy's race once and for all. He opened a wardrobe drawer and pulled out an old racket that he had won from Puck even back in high school. He looked in the corner of the room and felt the weight of the baseball bat. Finn never played this sport at school, but he liked the accessories. He tried a black cap and bowed the flap. In the dark it would be difficult to identify him, though Finn's intention was to make Howard Battes' bastard remember him very well. He looked at the equipment in bed and decided he would have the meeting after leaving Rachel at home after work.

At night, after eight o'clock, he had a quick shower, dressed and went downstairs to watch his girlfriend sing. Finn was known by all the staff. As soon as he reached the door, the receptionist greeted him and said there was room in the bar, but hurry up, as the house was getting full. He sat in the captive spot where he had a good view of the stage. Rachel was circling between the tables with a tray in hand. She wrote down the orders and then hurried to pick up the others. She would graciously serve the customers and then hurry to deliver the requested bill on a third table. The work was continuous. Until at one point the manager took the stage with the pianist, the bassist and the drummer (a jazz trio). Rachel, as always, was the first. She graciously handed the order to one of the tables and, still holding the tray, went up to the small stage. As usual, she took off her apron, smiled at the musicians, and nodded. They began a cheerful and sophisticated rhythm with discreet applause.

Rachel walked over to the microphone and let out a soft, high-pitched voice.

" _Olha, está chovendo na roseira/ que só dá rosa, mas não cheira/ a frescura das gotas úmidas/ que é de Luisa/ que é de Paulinho/ que é de João/ que é de ninguém/ Pétalas de rosa carregadas pelo vento/ um amor tão puro carregou meu pensamento/ olha um tico-tico mora ao lado/ e passeando no molhado/ adivinhou a primavera._ " (1)

Elis Regina was Rachel's idol. The aspirant loved the Elis' technique, the broad domain of breathing, the ability to break the music compass, to cry without losing the tuning. When Rachel finished singing, the timid applause of the beginning turned into a unison in the restaurant after the beautiful performance. Normally, Rachel would step down from the stage, then the jazz trio would play some instrumental ambient sets and the manager would call another waitress to sing. This time, after much applause, Rachel was invited to sing another song. She was caught off guard. Normally she prepared two songs in the rotation, but as she planned to leave earlier, she combined only one with the jazz trio. She saw that some people were waiting and she only had one music in mind. One that swarmed and reflected dark thoughts that she desperately sought to hide. On the other hand, it was a great song. Music also had the role of giving vent to the feelings.

Rachel looked at her colleagues in the trio and spoke quickly to them. They worked together long enough in that restaurant to know each other style and repertoire. Rachel returned to the front of the stage and there was some expectation, including the tall young man at the bar. Rachel didn't want to exchange glances with her boyfriend. Not in that moment. The soft piano started the song and Rachel closed her eyes, letting the melody flow.

" _Ontem de manhã quando acordei/ olhei a vida e me espantei/ eu tenho mais de vinte anos/ eu tenho mais de mil perguntas sem respostas/ estou ligada num futuro blue/ os meus pais nas minhas costas/ as raízes na marquise/ eu tenho mais de vinte muros/ o sangue jorra pelos furos/ pelas veias de um jornal/ eu não te quero, eu te quero mal._ " (2)

The change of theme between the presentations surprised some of the customers at the table. Even so, Rachel's strong, heartfelt interpretation aroused admiration. At the end of the song, with loud applause, Rachel left the stage without thanking the musicians as she usually did. She went straight to the staff's bathroom to dry her tears. She didn't want to wash her face because it would ruin her makeup once and for all.

"Is everything okay?" A co-worker asked.

"Yes." Rachel forced a smile. "It's the assault thing that's still in my head... but it'll pass."

"You should talk to the boss and ask to leave. He will understand. And your boyfriend is here."

Rachel's colleague had a point: she was so moved by the revealing interpretation that she deconcentrated from work, from the focus of things. Rachel spoke quickly with her boss, who agreed that she would leave early, since she promised to work overtime to compensate. In addition, the boss recognized that Rachel worked hard, that she deserved such flexibility. Rachel went to the dressing room, took off her uniform. The feeling of wearing the regular clothes was so good. She went to the bar and hugged her boyfriend.

"To your house?" Finn asked and Rachel confirmed. She wanted her own bed, and preferably cuddle with her boyfriend in the night.

As soon as they arrived in front of the building, Finn surprised her. He said he had to go somewhere, but that he would come back later that night to stay with her.

"But..." Rachel tried to protest in the car.

"It's just business, okay?" He forced a smile. "It's something I have to solve at the shop."

"Okay?" Rachel felt something was out of place. "I understand, though I really need you."

"Half an hour!" Finn was determined.

"Please!"

"Half an hour," he said more slowly.

Rachel stared at her boyfriend and folded her arms.

"Then I'll go with you."

"Rach…" Finn was getting desperate. "I love your insubordination, but not now."

"And what will you have to do so seriously that I can't go along?"

There was no good enough answer, yet Finn wouldn't give up and decided to appeal.

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course yes."

"So trust now. In half an hour I'm going to open the door to your room and I'll cuddle with you."

Rachel finally got out of the truck, even if reluctantly. Finn waited for his girlfriend to open the porch and go upstairs. He sighed in relief as he drove his car and headed for the address on the crumpled paper. In ten minutes, he parked the truck in a nearby street. It was a dimly lit residential neighbourhood of small houses. Many of them had metal fence to separate area from the neighbour. At that time of night there was little movement. He put on a dark coat, put on his black cap, and took the baseball bat. He walked determined to the street in question and stood for a few minutes standing in front of the house in a poorly maintained garden and a GM in the garage with at least 20 years of use. There was a dim light on, and Finn thought maybe Battes was awake watching TV. He took a deep breath and decided to take a John Wayne-style approach.

However, he felt pressure on his wrist and the next second he was being pulled by someone with a black mask, like a burglar's. He was impressed by the person's strength but not with his height. The vigilante seemed to be a small guy to be so strong. Finn tried to resist and let go. He did it in an arm movement, but the masked man quickly caught Finn again, this time using twisting technique, and continued to drag him to the place where the truck was. One last attempt, Finn took the bat and hit the vigilante's side back with all the strength he could. He also hit the vigilante's shoulder and part of the arm. Finn was sorry because he even sympathized with the vigilante. But at that moment the masked man was against him and Finn had to do something about it.

"You can't do that," the masked said in a somewhat strange but masculine voice.

"I'm going to end up with something you didn't have the competence to do." He pointed the bat at the vigilante. "I'm going to kill that guy and if you try to stop me, I'll kill you."

"That guy is unemployed and was desperate because he can't afford even a bread for his family. Yes, he committed a crime. Yes, he hurt your girl. Yes, he deserves to pay. But not with his life. The only person who could do justice in the right way is your girl. Only your girl can make him pay for what he did. But she didn't. That sucks, but we can't do anything about it. Not this way."

"That's not you who decide."

"Whatever."

"You're a hypocrite. You sent him to the hospital!"

"Yes, I did. I lost control. But it's over."

"Shut up."

In the open fight, despite Finn having a bat and being taller, he lost. He tried to hit the vigilante who dodged easily and applied baffling kicks as if he was playing. The strategy seemed to make the tall man get tired. And as the fight went on, Finn no longer had legs or arms to continue. He knelt on the asphalt, breathless, disarmed and humiliated.

"Who are you?" He asked almost in tears.

"A friend," the masked man replied.

"If you were my friend you would let me do it justice."

"Berry's going to be okay."

Hearing the girlfriend's last name from the masked mouth filled Finn with fury again.

"Stay away from her. Whoever you are, stay away from her. If you approach her again, I swear I'll kill you. I swear!"

"Don't say bullshit. You're not a fighter much less a killer."

"I will fulfil this. You are my enemy from now on."

"Okay, I'll take it. Just go home and stay with your girl. You have no business here, believe me."

Finn returned to the truck and drove back to the apartment Rachel shared with Kurt. He went into the house and saw her girl lying down on the bed. Silently, he took off his shirt and shoes and lay down beside her, sheltering Rachel's small body against his as he promised. But he couldn't relax or sleep. The anger and the frustration he felt was enormous.

…

…

(1) Chovendo na Roseira, by Tom Jobim

" _Look, it's raining in the rose / rose, but it doesn't smell / the freshness of the damp drops / it's Luisa's / Paulinho's / João's / nobody's love so pure carried my thoughts / look a tico-tico lives next door / and strolling in the wet / guessed the spring."_

This is a classic of the MPB (Brazilian Popular Music). This fic and this chapter refers specifically to the album 'Elis and Tom', in which the singer Elis Regina sings songs composed by the maestro Tom Jobim. Elis Regina is, according to the magazine Rolling Stone Brazil, the female voice nº1 of the Brazilian music. It's not just the critics of tis magazine who say that. In fact, there is a consensus in Brazil that Elis was the greatest singer among all. The album 'Elis and Tom' is considered one of the most important in the history of Brazilian music. Elis was a genius singer, had absolute pitch (that is to say that she knew the musical note of any noise), and sang in tune even when she was crying. Elis died when she as 36 of accidental overdose in 1982. Elis style remains modern. Even today she is still worshiped by the new generations.

Search Youtube: Elis Regina Chovendo na Roseira

(2) 20 Anos Blues, by Sueli Costa/ Vitor Martins

 _"Yesterday morning when I woke up / looked at life and I was amazed / I am over twenty / I have more than a thousand unanswered questions / I am bound in the blue future / my parents behind my back / roots in the marquise / I have more than twenty walls / the blood gushes through the holes veins of a newspaper / I don't want you, I want you badly."_

There are many interesting stories about Elis Regina. In fact, there are four major books written about her in Brazil, as well as hundreds of academic papers. Elis had talent to discover new composers, like Sueli Costa and Vitor Martins. They sent her a K7 tape with their songs (Elis received hundreds of tapes and listened to ALL of them). "20 anos blues" was a recording at the end of the B-side that was there by mistake because the composers had forgotten to erase it. It was just a sketch. Elis listened and chose this one. She called the composers and said, "I want to record that last one you made, but may I make a few minor modifications to the lyrics?" Sueli and Vitor were amazed.

Search Youtube: Elis Regina 20 anos blues Ensaio

Bonus track: Elis Regina As Curvas da Estrada de Santos. Drummers will understand!


	5. The vigilante

Some important considerations:

1 - The songs are in Portuguese and the translation of the mentioned verses goes at the end of each chapter;

2 - Also at the end of the chapter will be posted comments on artists and video suggestions on Youtube.

3 – Review!

…

" _The masked vigilante attacked again. Last night, Jane Pectrovick (22) and Robert Lewis (21) were arrested at a downtown post with two unregistered weapons, and nearly $ 4,000 in cash. The couple reportedly stole a convenience store and a pub that night. Both incidents were reported by police late on Sunday. The offending couple appears in security cameras threatening employees and breaking into the cash register, as well as stealing cigarettes. Jane reported that she and her companion were approached by a person with the ninja mask, who immobilized and attached them to a pole. She would have been impressed by the strength and agility of the vigilante. Something that Pectrovick described as superhuman, according to the testimony recorded by the police._

 _Apparently the masked vigilante had a busy night. Dylan Frampton (26) was tied to a post and found on Sunday morning with the "drug dealer" sign and carrying a hundred ecstatic tablets. Although the man denies it, five pounds of crackers, two pounds of cocaine, ten pounds of marijuana, and over a thousand ecstatic tablets were found in Dylan's apartment. A witness who prefers not to identify itself said Mr. Frampton was the leading supplier on campus of the Free State University._

 _Despite the apparent public service, the police reiterate that the population must also denounce the whereabouts of the masked vigilante. "People may think that such a vigilante is a hero, but he is not someone qualified for it. This person is breaking the law, committing crimes, such as assaults, and must respond for those acts", said police chief Carl Burke. Mr. Howard Battes entered a formal action against the vigilante after being beaten and tied to a post on the charge of being a rapist. There are no complaints against the metallurgist or occurrences that prove such an accusation._ "

Finn read the paper on Tuesday and had mixed feelings about the actions of the masked vigilante. Especially after the brief and frustrating meeting on Saturday night. It was as if the justice had laughed at him for having the ability to get in his business and still humble him in a totally unfair fight (at least that was how Finn liked to think), and then still have time to take care of a drug dealer. What a mess. His first admiration and support turned into anger and disdain.

Finn looked at the car he was supposed to fix. Working with so much in mind was complicated. He needed to make some confrontations, starting with Artie. Something said that his physically disabled colleague had some connection with the vigilante, because nobody else knew about Howard Battes and his address. How could the masked man have found it and left the note in the car? Artie was the liaison, but Finn still didn't have the opportunity to confront the colleague in the theater. Starting with the cancellation of Monday's rehearsal. He also couldn't find Artie on campus when he passed by in the morning.

" _Hi Finn, what is it?_ " Kurt answered the call.

"Can you do me a favour today?"

" _It depends. What is?_ "

"Can you get Rachel at work today?"

" _It's all right. I'll take her_."

"Thanks, little bro. I owe you a favour. "

" _One more among so many._ "

Finn felt refreshed by the self-made compromise. He worked in the car throughout the day and made the necessary phone calls to his girlfriend and football coach saying he couldnt help with the training. At the end of the day, he took a shower and headed for the university campus. He parked his truck and walked to his colleague's bedroom. He pressed the intercom but nobody answered. This time He wouldn't give up so easily. He sat down on one of the concrete benches and waited patiently.

Artie entered Finn's field of vision almost a half hour later. Artie was with Mercedes and a young man Finn had never seen before. He was a brown-haired, nerdy-looking guy, at least a hand taller than Mercedes. The young man's name was David Mills, and he had started dating the journalist, not that the mechanic would care about such information. Finn didn't care much about the private life of many of his theater colleagues. He stiffened at Mercedes, Artie, Santana, Matt, Quinn, Brittany, and Mike. His loyalty was with Rachel, Kurt, Tina, Puck, Schuester, and Emma.

"Hello Finn?" Mercedes approached his colleague in a mixture of surprise and surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello to you," Finn smirked. "It's just that I came here looking for Artie to discuss a project and I didn't have his phone number, just the address... could we talk?"

"Of course! Here or do you want to go upstairs?" Artie asked.

"We can go upstairs, if you want." A reserved place was where the confrontation that Finn wanted to do.

"All right!" Artie smiled at his friend. "I'll see you two later and if you can leave Santana outside, it would be something," Artie teased Mercedes and her boyfriend.

"Oh yeah." The diva opened a smile. "I'd love to install a camera outside my bedroom door just to see Santana's face when she arrives and find the room with our busy code."

Finn understood nothing of what was going on but he didn't care. They said goodbye to the elevator, when Mercedes and her new boyfriend were on the third floor. Artie and Finn would have one more ahead. Once in the security of the dormitory, Artie smiled at his colleague and gestured for him to sit down in the chair, but Finn refused. He paced like a restless animal.

"How can I help you?"

"Saturday when I came to you to find an address."

"Yes?"

"Did you tell somebody else what we did?"

"I must have commented. Why? Was it something stealthy?"

"Could you make an effort and remember who you said?"

"Mercedes and Santana to start."

Finn snorted. He was looking for a man of short stature, but very skilled and certainly with training in martial arts. He thought it was possible for the three college students to meet someone like that, but he couldn't imagine how it would be possible for one of the girls to talk to a third person, probably the target, about a plan he didn't reveal. Unless Artie was hiding something. There were two options in Finn's mind: the first would be a more energetic approach. The other was more appealing. Maybe he had more chances with the second one. He pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Artie and laced his fingers together.

"This guy, Battes, was the one who assaulted Rachel." Finn watched closely for Artie's reaction and was even more disappointed by his colleague's genuine surprise reaction. "I got the address to get things right with this guy. Well, I couldn't, and then something very strange happened: this guy, the vigilante, prevented me from approaching Battes' house. Not only that: he knew exactly what I wanted to do. It turns out you were the only person who knows I asked for such information. The only one who knew that I would somehow be looking for Howard Battes."

"And you think I've deciphered your whole plan from a common request and told the masked vigilante?"

"I've thought of a thousand things, Artie. Don't take it personally, but... I thought you had a close relationship with this guy."

"If I knew him, would you ask for an audience?" Now the tone was loaded with irony.

"I..." Finn put his hands to his head. He was frustrated and tired.

"Listen to Finn, I commented this with the girls when we were among a group of colleagues. We met a lot of people and these ones we know relate to a lot of others we never even imagined. "

Rachel still had nightmares at night as well as insomnia. She said she wasn't afraid, but she didn't want to walk down the street without company. That's killing Finn. It wasn't easy for Rachel to overcome the rage and trauma, just as it wasn't for Finn to stand beside her for support when he himself wanted to punch a wall and break some bones.

"This guy tried to rape Rachel," Finn ventured over the real motive for the first time since the incident. "The vigilante saved her just in time. But he didn't save her from insomnia and nightmares at night. "

"I didn't know." Artie came over and put his hand on his friend's shoulder in comfort. "I'm sorry about Rachel, and it's a shame I really can't help you about the identity of this vigilante. I had heard of him from the news, of course, but I have no idea who he is or what connections he may have. "

"Okay." Finn rubbed his hands over his face like an awakening after the outburst. "I'm so stressed out that I'd like to discount anyone or anything. It's hard to see my girlfriend hurting and to be able to do absolutely nothing." He got up and still bewildered, looking for the door."Look, could you just leave it between us? Don't comment on Mercedes and Santana. Especially Santana. She's a cynical jerk and I swear that I'm going to lose control if she makes any comments."

"She's one of my best friends and I assure you she's nothing like you think she is," Artie said imperiously. "Santana can make sour comments, but she is a good person and she cares."

"Sorry... I only ask this favour. Can be? Rachel wouldn't like to know that I've been spreading the truth behind the assault."

"Of course." Artie nodded seriously. "Go easy, okay?"

"Okay... well... I need to go."

Finn was defeated from his friend's dorm. He wasn't entirely convinced of Artie's innocence, but there was nothing he could do at that moment except to investigate carefully and cautiously. He went home frustrated. He was sure Kurt would find Rachel in the restaurant, and at least that was a relief. Meant he could sleep alone.

It wasn't quite like that. Kurt dozed while watching a movie with Adam, his love interest who studied in his class at community college, and lost his time. Rachel waited for her friend for half an hour, she left messages on his and Finn's cell phone. She saw her last colleague say good-bye and cross the street. Rachel wouldn't dare ask her boss for a ride. Because, honestly, she didn't trust being alone with any man but Kurt and Finn.

She saw herself alone. The park was a few yards away and the walk through it was a mile to the apartment where she lived. She used to do that in a few minutes and until the day of the attack, she wasn't afraid of doing it. Rachel wanted to be like this again. She looked toward the green area surrounded by urbanity. She had a pepper spray in her bag and was terrified. She wanted to have that courage again. She wanted to get back to her normal self again. She thought once, twice, three times. Rachel took a deep breath and took a step beyond the sidewalk and crossed the street. The pepper spray was in hand. She held the tube tightly and walked as faster as she could into the park where it all happened.

Rachel had to face her fear. It was a matter of honour. She knew all the risks of crossing before the attack. Still, that was never a problem. No, she needed to be there.

She tried to think of one of her favourite songs.

" _Gosto muito de ter ver, leãozinho/ caminhando sob o sol/ gosto de você, leãozinho/ para desentristecer, leãozinho/ o meu coração tão só/ basta eu encontrar você no caminho/ Um filhote de leão, raio da manhã/ arrastando meu olhar como um imã/ o meu coração é o sol, pai de toda cor/ quando ele doura a pele ao léu._ " (1)

Her dad Leroy used to sing this song when she was little. It reminded her of her happy childhood moments, of going to the park to play, the pizza nights and the board games, the weekend video sessions. Rachel missed her dads. She had the keys to her house, but pride kept her from going into her house and apologizing for being an asshole, for being by Finn's side and breaking her relationship with her parents over her boyfriend. Music, at that moment, became a mantra to face her fears.

The park was empty, as usual, at that time. But Rachel saw something different. She heard some voices. It was as if there had been a fight over there. She squeezed the tube of pepper into her preparedness despite the shaking. One person ran across the road, running away. The pursuer showed up seconds later. The chased stopped, pointed a gun and fired. Yet the pursuer caught up with him and hit him with a straight shot. The stalker wore a mask. He tied the wrists of the knocked out man, and staggered away. The vigilante took his hand to his abdomen. He walked staggering back through the trees. That was when Rachel had the urge to follow him.

Rachel ran as fast as she could and found the masked man fallen next to a pine tree. Rachel approached cautiously, and there, the twilight of the moon helped with the light poles of the asphalt lane that surrounded the park, she saw the masked man in a gasping breath with one hand in his abdomen. The bullet hit him. Rachel's approach made the vigilante react. He tried to rise, but was in vain. It was clear that he had no more strength.

"Calm down," Rachel walked slowly. "Calm down. I am here to help."

Rachel knelt beside the masked man and withdrew his weak hand from the wound. The large jacket he was wearing was wet with blood. The masquerade tried to put his hand in the pocket of his pants, but lacked strength and coordination. The singer understood and put her hand in his pocket. There was a cell phone.

"Do you want me to call someone?"

"177. Tell them I'm in the park... "

Rachel dialed the number.

" _San?_ " A female voice that wasn't that strange answered.

"My name is Rachel Berry... San was badly injured in St. James Park near the exit of Wales Street. He needs urgent help. "

" _Okay, understood._ " She hung up.

Now, the masked man had a name, or a nickname: San. And this San lost blood. It was a bullet. Rachel needed to do something. She was trembling, but she had to help. She unzipped his jacket and faced a female body, gasping for life. Rachel pressed the wound. Her dad had given her some first aid notions, and she knew it was necessary to press wounds to try to contain the bleeding. The touch generated discomfort. Patience. San breathed unevenly. Whoever was on the other side of the line, should arrived as soon as possible. Rachel thought the mask was making San's breath difficult, and maybe San needed fewer obstacles. It wasn't right to violate the secret of identity, but Rachel acted on the best of intentions. She lifted the mask until it had freed the man from that cloth. The mask was strange. There was something rigid at the mouth. Rachel didn't believe what she discovered. San was from Santana Lopez. No one less than her colleague involved in the theater. The vigilante was the girl who, though pretty and sexy, thought Rachel was unpalatable. Not in a million years could she associate such identities. Not in a million years Rachel she could imagine that the one who saved her from the rapist was the people she hated most.

"Santana?" She said, still shocked.

"Berry..." Santana coughed blood and moaned in pain. She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Hold on, okay? Help will come at any moment" Rachel was more intent on pressing the wound.

"The dudes..."

"Don't think of bad guys now. You need to worry about saving energy."

"It's cold..."

"It's the blood loss. But it will pass. Hold on, Santana, please. Don't die in my arms. Not now that I have a million questions in my mind about you."

Rachel felt someone approaching. More than one person. She looked back and saw two people, both wearing masks like Santana's. What the hell? Was that a secret organization or something? One of the masked men removed the gloves and pulled Santana's soaked blouse up while the other pulled his hand on Rachel's shoulders.

A faint blue light came out of Santana's friend hands. Rachel wasn't crazy. There were no devices there, just the hand. It wasn't a sci-fi, paranormal or extraterrestrial movie. It was real life, and the masked man emitted blue light through his hands. Rachel felt the hands of the other man on the top of her head. She breathed more breathlessly, her heart raced for the umpteenth time that night, and suddenly she felt very sleepy. Her vision darkened.

…

…

(1) Leãozinho, by Caetano Veloso

" _I like to see you little lion / walking in the sun / I like you, little lion / to untangle, lioness / my heart so lonely / I just find you on the way / A lion cub, morning ray / dragging my eyes like a magnet / my heart is the sun, father of all colour / when he gilds his skin._ "

'Leãozinho' is perhaps Caetano Veloso's gayest song next to 'Menino do Rio'. He made this song in honour of the bassist Dadi, who was part of the band Novos Baianos. Caetano's sexuality has already caused some gossip in Brazil. He's seem as heterosexual, but there are gossips that he also had affairs with men, which leads to believe that he is a bisexual in the closet.

Search Youtube: Caetano e Dadi Leaozinho


	6. Who are you?

Some important considerations:

1 - The songs are in Portuguese and the translation of the mentioned verses goes at the end of each chapter;

2 - Also at the end of the chapter will be posted comments on artists and video suggestions on Youtube.

3 – Review!

...

Rachel was startled when she woke up. She was worried about Santana, and her first attitude was to run to help her colleague. The rush made her fall from the bed. She was confused. How was it possible to be in the park at one time or another in her own bedroom? She was wearing pyjamas her hands were washed. Maybe she had imagined things. Maybe she had hit her head. Rachel sat on the carpet and tried to reason. She remembered every detail of that night. She saw the masked vigilante run after a man who shot him. Even so, the vigilante knocked out the man and stopped him. Then he left the asphalt road, which was illuminated, and staggered to the trees. That's where Rachel found him. Better: found her. It was Santana. She asked to call a number on the phone and ask for help. Two masked men arrived a few minutes later and one of them had a blue light coming out of his hands. That's what Rachel remembered.

Rachel thought maybe it was all imagination. Could it be a dream with so much details? The narrative was too coherent to be a dream. Or maybe not. Rachel looked for evidence. Her shoe was meticulously at the side of her bed. It was strange: she and Kurt always left their shoes at the front door. They both agree that shoes were dirty and they could contaminate the house. It was the clue number one that something was wrong. Rachel searched for her bag, which was placed on her chair. Nothing wrong with that. She searched the contents and apparently everything was there: wallet, documents, money, but her pepper spray. Rachel remembered she lay the tube on the floor when she helped Santana. At no point did she bother to put it back. That was evidence number two. Finally, checked her clothes. Her jacket was missing, which was odd. But she did found her jeans and her blouse in the dirty clothes box. She checked her jeans and saw blood spots. The height of the knees of the trousers were dirt. Rachel knew the blood wasn't hers.

Anyway, someone tried to cover up the facts of the night before. Rachel took off her pyjamas and wore some fresh clothes. She glanced at her watch. It was almost eight in the morning. Rachel heard movement in her living room.

"Good morning, Rach," Kurt friend said normally.

"Good morning, Kurt… and Adam."

"So, what's up?"

"May I ask you a question?"

"Yes, sure."

"How did I get here?"

"I went to get you at work. Don't you remember?" Kurt said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. " I was a bit late, but I looked for you. You were in front of the restaurant."

"How I was?"

"You were a bit nervous because I was late, but you were fine." Kurt frowned. "Rachel, are you okay? Are you having one of these post-traumatic crises?"

"But when you looked for me, were my clothes dirty?"

"No, they were normal, I think. Rach, is everything okay?"

"I'm not sure."

"What are you not sure?"

"Things are... confusing now."

She needed to get the events clean, and Kurt wouldn't be the guy who would help, or even Adam, who would make a dodgy face. They went to community college for another day in their respective classes. Rachel, however, cheated: she left the college building and ran to get the first bus to Free State University. She checked her small address book. Her paranoia with control and organization almost always paid off. Rachel had the address and telephone number of all members of the theater group on those pages.

Steverson Building, apartment 308 - residence of Mercedes Jones and Santana Lopez.

Rachel knocked at the door once, twice, three times. No one answered. She knocked a fourth time with more insistence and strength. When she thought about getting the phone in her purse, the door opened revealing a pale Santana Lopez.

"Berry?" She mumbled.

"Thank you for let me in, Santana." She entered without asking.

The dormitory was a large room with two single beds. There was a desk, a small shelf, a computer, a closet, some posters on the wall, a mini-fridge, that is, everything that is cliché (and necessary) inside a dormitory. One side was neat. The other side, Rachel presumed, must have been Santana's, judging from the rumpled bed.

"What are you doing here?" Santana asked as she closed the door. She was too weak to stand and to be tough, but she resisted in an attempt to give Rachel the impression that she was well.

"I know you're the vigilante. Or at least one of them." Rachel fired and Santana grew even paler.

"What?" Santana tried to make one last move and make a fool of himself.

"You were shot last night."

"Are you out of your mind, Berry?"

Rachel didn't have the patience to play games. She advanced on Santana, who swayed and fell back against her bed, banging her back against the mattress. Then Santana had her t-shirt up. There was a recent scar in the same place where there should be a wound. The place was very red.

"I know I'm irresistible, but you don't have to attack me." Santana forced a smirk. "I can give you freely."

"Shut up, Santana. You were shot last night and stop acting like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm distressed here. I need explanations..."

Santana tried to sit down and felt dizzy with the effort. Rachel saw the difficulty of her colleague and supported her.

"Here." She pushed Santana's feet up onto the bed, packed the pillows and helped her lean against the headboard. Rachel took the blanket and covered Santana to her belly. Santana finished nesting once more. Rachel took the chair and placed it next to the bed. That's right. Now she could hear the explanations.

"What do you remember?" Santana sighed.

"You getting shot by that guy and then falling through the trees. I helped you and I called a number on your cell phone. You were very weak... you still are, to be frank. Then came two masked men, one of whom had a blue light coming out of his hands. the other put his hand on my head and I slept. I woke up in my bedroom, in my bed, in my pyjamas when I should be soaked with blood. Your blood." Emphasized the last sentence. "Kurt said he picked me up at the restaurant, and that I was normal. But that doesn't make any sense. I don't remember that."

"Interesting." Santana frowned.

"Yes very interesting."

"It was quite a hallucination! What the hell did you try? "

"Do me a favour: don't be silly. Don't offend my intelligence and my patience. You're the vigilante, you saved me from the rapist, you were shot yesterday and I helped you. If I hadn't called your alien friends, you would have died. So you owe me big time and I want to know the truth." Rachel folded her arms. "Or I can tell this story to someone like... Kurt... and let's see where this goes."

"So you remember... this shouldn't happen."

"Are you suggesting that one of the vigilantes tried to wrest this memory from me?" Santana nodded. "What are you?"

"I don't know what I am, but I know it's a long and complicated story."

"I have all day."

"It's not that simple. It's not something that should reach people's knowledge."

"The way you act and the news of the past few weeks, I'd say it's too late."

"Yet there are identities that need to be protected, secrets. Things that give us security for walk in the city, to study in peace. You shouldn't remember what happened, but as you recall, you can't tell anyone else, Berry. You're going to fuck with my life and other people if you open your mouth. Right now, especially with my life."

"I won't tell anyone. Not Finn or Kurt. Promise. But I need to know. "

"You already know too much."

"Still, I have doubts. I'm not asking you to show me the big picture. Just tell me what I might know from what I found in helping you. "

"What do you want to know?"

Rachel paused for a moment and thought: what would she like to know? The list was huge, but she tried to condense the items.

"Are you the vigilante?"

"Yes."

"How many are you?"

"Just me."

"And the others?"

"The vigilante from the news is me, Berry. The others are none of your business."

"Do you patrol the city for criminals?"

"Kind of. I'm still just a student with a scholarship I can't lose."

"You really saved me from the rapist?"

"Not at all."

"What?"

"I was coming home that day. When I'm wearing the mask and the jacket, I usually go back through the park because it's easier to avoid people. There are always somebody having sex at night in that part, or doing heroin, there is a homeless man who sleeps there. I've seen it all. I don't stop for these things. But when I heard your screams and cry, I realised that something was wrong. I ran and I didn't see it was you at first. I just reacted. Still, I was too late. I'm sorry."

"It's wasn't your fault. You can't control those things."

"I know, still."

"That's okay, Santana. Really. I made a bad decision that night."

They were both silent for a moment. Each one with their own pain. Santana blamed herself for not doing better. Rachel was sorry she hadn't fought enough, that she hadn't used the pepper spray. For not doing better. It wasn't Rachel's or Santana's fault. They couldn't have done any better.

"But you had a male voice." Rachel broke the moment of silence.

"I disguise myself and I have a device that stays on my mask that helps protect my identity."

"That explains the hard thing in your mask, and the fact that your voice sounds strange."

Rachel was silent for a moment again as she digested the information. Not in a million years could she foresee that that girl could save her from anything. The common sense was that Santana would push her off a bridge or the edge of a cliff if she had the opportunity. Rachel saw the vigilante settle into the bed. Santana seemed to feel so much pain, she was weak. Rachel didn't understand how that girl could send a guy to the ICU and hit all those bad guys.

"That person with the blue light in its hands, was that super power or something along those lines?"

"Perhaps."

"Is that what healed you?"

"That's what saved me. You see, it's not like I was going to go out swinging this afternoon. I've lost a lot of blood and my body still needs rest. I'm all sore, especially where I got shot. But don't worry Berry: I heal fast."

"Is that your superpower? Resistance? Is that why you could wait for your friends when an ordinary person would have died?"

"That and I'm also stronger than a normal person."

"Like Wonder Woman or more like Batgirl?" Santana was surprised. Never expected to hear any geek reference come out of Rachel Berry's mouth, however common and banal it was.

"Neither. As you see, I don't fly, I don't have goodness strength, but I'm not a person trained by Batman either."

"Santana!"

"I'm serious." Santana smiled and then moaned in pain. She gave himself a little time to continue. "I am a very strong person. More than those fat, bearded guys who move a truck a few feet to those TV shows. On a good day, I can run faster than Usain Bolt and maintain that speed for much more than 100 meters. I can run that fast for a kilometre or two. I am also more resilient and I heal quick from injuries and fractures."

"Are you like Buffy Summers then?"

"It may be, but without the vampires. I'm impressed you know at least the basics of pop culture, Berry."

"Oh, please!"

Rachel smiled a little. Santana coughed and this brought Rachel back to the reality of the state her colleague was in. Rachel bend over and reach out to touch Santana's. She felt the temperature. The skin was cold.

"You should get dressed up better, with warmer clothes." Rachel got up and went insolently to the bedroom closet for another blanket. "And you need to eat something. I'm not seem nothing in your dorm." she said as she took a second blanket, opened it and threw it over Santana. "Your body needs to recover from this anaemia and there are beet-based soups that could help. They are industrialized, but the taste is tolerable."

"Really?" Santana tried to sound indifferent.

"That's serious, Santana. I can buy some soup cans if you want. Just tell me where the nearest market is. I can also do something at home and pay a delivery man."

"Berry…"

"You need eat and have some sleep. I can stay if want to help you."

Rachel was interrupted by knocking on the door and became apprehensive.

"You can open it for me, Berry. There's nothing abnormal about it. "

The singer nodded and opened the door for her colleague. She met a beautiful woman with long brown hair, with lights at the ends. The woman wore clothes that was just and too short for that fall day.

"Who are you?" The woman asked insolently.

"Ra... Rachel Berry."

"Is Santana here?" She didn't wait for the answer and got in the dormitory almost knocking down Rachel. When she saw Santana on the bed her reaction was pure jealousy. She stepped forward into Santana and pulled out the blankets to see if the other college girl was naked. "Were you having sex?"

"No!" Rachel replied immediately, clearly intimidated. "I have nothing to do with Santana. I swear."

"Hi Jenny." Santana sat up in bed completely indifferent to the other's attitude. "Jenny, this is Rachel Berry, she's my colleague from the theatre."

"Hi Jenny." Rachel was still nervous and intimidated about the meeting. "So you're friends with Santana?"

"Girlfriend," She said, still armed and predatory.

Santana snorted at the word. Jenny was an ex-girlfriend who became a botty call, usually when Santana felt lonely and wasn't investing in any other girl. Jenny and Santana met when Santana was a freshman and the other was in her sophomore year. But Jenny soon proved be so possessive while the vigilante had another priority. Besides, Santana wasn't about to have any serious relationships in college. Their relationship ended several months ago. One day, during a party, they had sex again, but Santana didn't want commitment and tried to make that clear whenever possible. Jenny knows about Santana's occasional conquests, and she even declares herself single, but always acts like a jealous girlfriend (and declares herself to be) when they are together or even among other people.

"So Rachel." Jenny stared at her. "What are you doing here?"

"If you haven't noticed." Santana interfered with authoritative voice. "I'm sick, my body aches, and Rachel was kind enough to come here and offer her help."

"You must be very helpful, Berry," Jenny said with irony.

"Well, Santana, I was just about to leave. I wish you to get better." Rachel picked up her backpack.

"So soon?" Jenny said with irony, making Rachel pause for a moment and take a deep breath. Rachel didn't have patience for insolent and stupid people.

"I would stay longer, but I'm sure you can do a much better job. I bet you know everything about Santana, including what's making her sick."

"Berry… don't…" Santana was tired, and that bickering would do no good to anyone.

"Bye." Rachel left the dorm.

She didn't think it was right to leave her colleague frail and sick like that with a predator. Well, it wasn't her problem either. Rachel left the building without being seen by anyone she knew. Mercedes, Tina, and Artie were in class, just as she should be in community college as well. The restaurant where she worked wasn't far from the campus, and suddenly certain things made sense. Imagine a triangle of the equilateral type. Imagine that one end was the restaurant, the next one clockwise was the university campus and the next was the neighbourhood where Rachel lived. At the heart of the triangle was the relatively large urban park with private public lighting areas. This was the symbolic map of that region. It was truly natural for Santana to be around.

Rachel just used the park to go to work. It was eleven o'clock in the morning. Walking through the park in the morning was infinitely more pleasant than at night. The stranger who connected the university's exit to the exit next to the restaurant was different from the one he used to get home. Little was passing by, so things seemed to be new, for example, it was on that side of the park that a museum operated, and there was a softball field on the other side.

An hour later, someone knocked on Santana's door. Jenny picked it up and ran into a delivery boy.

"We didn't ask for anything." She said.

"Delivery to Santana Lopez. It was an offer from Rachel Berry."

Jenny thought about refusing, but when she saw that Santana was paying attention to her, she smiled awkwardly at the delivery man and received the food.

"Looks like your affair sent you food."

Santana got up with some difficulty and sat down to see what it was about. It was a soup with a great aroma.

...

"Come on, guys," Schuester clapped his hands. "One more time. Puck, stop hiding in the back of the stage, and Santana, more energy this time."

"Nothing about to take five, right?" Quinn complained.

"Come on, Quinn. More energy."

It was a group of four actors who would stage the number with Panis et Circenses. Santana, Quinn, Puck and Mike went back to the starting blocks and started over.

" _Eu quis cantar/ minha canção iluminada de sol/ soltei os panos sobre os mastros no ar/ soltei os tigres e os leões nos quintais/ mas as pessoas na sala de jantar..._ " (1)

Mike stepped forward.

" _São ocupadas em nascer..._ "

" _E morrer_ ". there was at that moment a complicated dance movement for someone with a sore body like Santana's. But she tried not to show pain. She had been resting for three days since the shooting episode. It was Friday, and she tried to resume normal life despite the pain.

" _Mandei fazer/ de puro aço luminoso punhal/ para matar o meu amor e matei/ as cinco horas na avenida central/ mas as pessoas na sala de jantar..._ "

This time it was Puck who was ahead like a Harlequin.

" _São ocupadas em nascer..._ "

" _E morrer_ "

Santana sighed and made an effort to make her solo.

" _Mandei plantar/ folhas de sonhos no jardim do solar/ as folhas sabem procurar pelo sol e as raízes procurar, procurar._ " She was relieved to have been able to sing perfectly, but the discomfort continued, her body hadn't yet time to heal completely.

In the last part of the song, the actors had to run and sing in a kind of chaos that was set up on the stage with the approach of policemen.

" _Mas as pessoas da sala de jantar/ essas pessoas da sala de jantar..._ "

Santana hesitated and stumbled onto the stage. She didn't fall because she leaned on Mike, almost knocking him down as well.

"Santana!" The director shouted. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, it is. I'm just a little shot today." Her comment made Rachel spit the water she drank from the bottle. The lead actress gasped and patted the back of her boyfriend in the armchair next to her. "Maybe if we take five..." the college student thought hopefully. She began to feel weak and tired.

"Okay," said the director. "Finn, Mike, Puck, Artie, Kurt and Matt," he summoned. "Let's make that scene with the boys."

While the men occupied the stage, Santana walked toward the armchairs and headed for Mercedes and Brittany.

"Are you okay?" Mercedes asked worriedly.

"I need my bed, that's all."

"We can arrange it. Artie can get a ride. All right?"

"Can be."

Santana sat down next to Brittany and watched Mercedes solve her problem. It took no more than five minutes, and then the pair headed out into the parking lot under the watchful eye of Rachel. It was a challenge for the singer, and a frustrating one, to know about Santana's dual identity, the origin of her sickness, and pretend to know nothing about it. Rachel couldn't even talk to Santana in public because it would seem strange to others, but she mentally noted that she should call back later to find out if everything was okay. Rachel followed her two colleagues just with her eyes, frowned, and grunted.

"Is there a problem, Rachel?" Quinn caught Rachel's attention, who looked more uneasy than usual.

"Nope." She forced a smile. "This rehearsal is going too long, and I'm tired."

"Don't tell me." Quinn relaxed a little more in the armchair. "That little girl already asked me to go home twice," she pointed at Beth.

"Considering the number of times she has already run between the chairs, I could tell she's bored." They giggled, but everything seemed tense for Rachel.

"Beth will be really upset tomorrow when she finds out I have to work overtime."

"Why?"

"I need to pay the rent, Rachel. My boss offered me a place to work full time. I'd make a lot more, but I don't know. It would be too bad for Beth to spend all day at school and day care."

Rachel really wanted to help her friends in trouble, but she also lived with her pockets tight. The only people she knew among her friends who had some financial security was Brittany (because she lived with her parents) and Finn, who had few expenses, and Kurt, who still earned a father's allowance. None of them would give some money to Quinn. Rachel looked once more out of the theater. By that time Santana and Mercedes were gone.

At the end of the rehearsals, she decided to sleep in her boyfriend's house for the first time since the assault. Rachel was nervous, but she decided to do it because she didn't want to feel weird about sex anymore. She had the silly idea that if she went back to having sex with her boyfriend, she would feel normal again. Not to mention that she still had the idea that once she was sexually active, that she had to satisfy her boyfriend, as if that was an obligation.

"Are you sure?" Finn asked after a heavy session of kissing on the bed.

"I'm sure." She removed her bra and then pulled her panties off.

Finn removed his pants and showed his already erect limb. He stroked her sex a little bit, licked her nipples, and worked the entrance with his finger. Rachel tensed. The last person to put his hand there was Howard Battes. She tried to relax. This was her boyfriend, Finn Hudson, the guy who was adored by the small community they were in, the stepchild of one of the city's most beloved councillors. Finn would never hurt her. Still, it wasn't that simple.

Finn realized that Rachel's excitement wasn't as expected. Still uncomfortable, Rachel changed plans. She gently held the boyfriend's dick, worked with her hands and mouth. She never liked that taste very much, but swallowed it anyway, licked it and made it look like ambrosia. Finn loved and believed in her. That didn't make him give up, though. He touched her again, fingered her and tried to coordinate the stimulation with one hand while masturbating with the other to be ready again.

Once erect for the second time, he positioned himself and penetrated.

"So tight." He began to move in and out. "I love your little pussy. So perfect for my dick. Just mine. All mine." Finn sometimes enjoyed dirty conversations during sex when he felt confident. He intensified his moments as Rachel groaned. "Whose cunt is this?"

"Your... only yours," she said through her moans.

"You're crazy about my dick. A little slut who loves being hammered like that. "

"Yes I love it."

He cum for the second time. She faked her orgasm. Nothing unusual. Rachel, however, thought these things were just the same. She had never had experience with other person to know if Finn was good or bad in bed. The reality is that Finn was nothing special, but Rachel was comfortable with him. Finn respected her and was affectionate. The dirty talk only happened at such times between the four walls, so she stopped bothering to be called a bitch, for example, every time she bend over.

Finn woke to the sound of the shower. Rachel always liked to have a shower in the morning after sex. The previous night was classified as incredible by him but it didn't helped Rachel the way she thought it could. She was sore, she was miserable and she was pretending everything was okay.

"Good morning." Rachel leaned over to kiss her boyfriend before dressing.

"Good morning, Rach." He grinned. "Good to see you like this."

"You are the big reason." She kissed him again, massaging her boyfriend's ego.

"Do you want me to pick you up at work today? Or do you prefer Kurt?"

"Will be free?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." She kissed him again.

Finn left his girlfriend at her place as usual, where he spent part of the morning before apologizing to leave. Rachel was relieved when her boyfriend left. She wanted to resist the temptation, but could not and took advantage of the tranquility of her room to call the watch.

" _Who is this?_ " Came a sulky voice. Rachel was startled by the aggressive tone, but she remembered that it was possible that Santana didn't have her number saved on her phone.

"Hello, Santana, this is Rachel."

" _Berry_?" The tone was confused.

"Rachel Berry, from the theater."

" _I know, but... why are you calling me?_ "

"I wanted to know how you are." Rachel heard a sigh from the other end of the line followed by a brief pause.

" _Better. Thanks. And I didn't get a chance to say thank you for the meals though I sincerely hope you won't send me more food. You don't have to do this._ "

"I know... I know... I just wanted to help."

" _I know, Berry. I'm fine. And I hope you're fine as well. But I've already turned this page_."

"Are you going back to the streets today?"

" _I don't know. I wouldn't even tell you if I was._ "

"Why not?"

" _Because it's none of your business._ "

"I don't think you should take that much risk. It's not necessary if there are others." Santana didn't answer and Rachel sighed. How difficult it was to communicate with someone who couldn't open and talk normally. "I'm going to perform at the restaurant today." Rachel closed her eyes. She barely believed what she was about to do. "The bar is awesome and they also serve some food there."

" _Are you calling me on a date? What would your boyfriend think of that?_ "

"It's not a date and you have a girlfriend."

" _Jenny? God save me from this plague._ "

"Well, if you want, come along."

Rachel hung up the phone, still not believing what she had just done. She practically flirted with Santana Lopez on the phone. What was happening to her? She has never done this to anyone else. She never invited anybody outside her select group of friends. The worst thing is that she hoped that Santana could show up.

Anyway, Santana Lopez didn't. Finn, however, arrived at the restaurant in time to see his girlfriend singing Fullgás.

" _Meu mundo você é quem faz/ Música, letra e dança..._ " (2)

Rachel, as always has been very successful. She saw her boyfriend at the bar where he used to be. Rachel immediately felt guilty. That was a song about a magnetic attraction between two persons. It's about an intense relationship. And she didn't think of her boyfriend when she sang that song.

Feeling guilty, she decided to sleep in her boyfriend's house after work. Rachel ended the night being called bitch while Finn was fucking her doggy style.

...

...

(1) Panis et Circenses, by Caetano Veloso/ Gilberto Gil

" _I wanted to sing/ my song lit by the sun/ I dropped the cloths on the masts in the air./ I let go the tigers and the lions in backyards/ But the people in the dining room/ are busy on born and die_

 _I ordered / From pure light steel a dagger/ To kill my love and I killed/ At five o'clock on Central Avenue/ But the people in the dining room/ are busy on born and die_

 _I ordered to plant/ Dream leaves in the manor garden/ The leaves know how to look for the sun/ And look for roots, look for..._

 _But the people in the dining room/ These people in the dining room/ Are the people in the dining room/ But the people in the dining room/ are busy on born and die._ "

Panis et Circenses is one of the tracks that gives the title of the disco-manifesto 'Tropicália or Panis et Circenses'. This song was performed by the trio Os Mutantes. The trio Os Mutantes was formed by Rita Lee and the brothers Arnaldo Baptista and Sérgio Dias. The three were regarded as virtuous. Rita Lee as lyricist, Sergio as guitarist, and Arnaldo as the man of creativity. Panis et Circenses means bread and circus. It refers to the Roman Empire's social policy which is imitated to this day. It was this song that made Os Mutantes get known. The trio re-recorded the song on their first album: Os Mutantes, 1968. The band broke with Rita Lee in 1972. Although the brothers continued with Mutantes, this was considered the creative end of the band. Rita becomes a solo artist and dominated Brazilian rock in the 1970s. She was the first Brazilian artist to sell 1 million copies on a rock-pop album. Sean Lennon is a Mutantes' fan, as well Beck. Once Sean Lennon asked Sérgio Dias which was their inspiration for so much creativity? Sergio answered: "from your fucking father!"

Search Youtube: Os Mutantes Panis et Circenses

(2) Fullgás, by Marina Lima/ Antônio Cícero

" _You are the one who make my world/ Music, lyrics and dance_ ..."

The bass line of this song is incredible. It was made by Liminha, who played bass in the Mutantes. Marina Lima is a Brazilian pop music artist from the 1980s. Her main partner in music is Antônio Cícero, her oldest brother. Their dynamic is very interesting. Marina has the stage and Cicero has the backstage. He's an academic, professor of Philosophy, and last year he won a chair at the Brazilian Academic Arts, becoming an "immortal." Despite that, he's known as "Marina's brother". Marina had laryngeal cancer that ruined her voice. Even so, she continued her career.

Search Youtube: Marina Lima Fullgas MTV. (that bass!)

How Rachel Berry would sing it: Fullgas Ivete Sangalo


	7. Vigilantes

Some important considerations:

1 - The songs are in Portuguese and the translation of the mentioned verses goes at the end of each chapter;

2 - Also at the end of the chapter will be posted comments on artists and video suggestions on Youtube.

3 – Review!

...

Rachel took the stage, as was every Saturday's routine, and smiled at the band's musicians. She positioned herself in the center of the stage and looked at the pianist. A nod and the song started to sing a little pop nonsense.

" _Não estou disposto a esquecer seu rosto de vez, e acho que é tão normal/ Dizem que sou louco, por eu ter um gosto assim: gostar de quem não gosta de mim/ Jogue suas mãos para o céus e agradeça se acaso tiver alguém que gostaria que estivesse sempre com você/ Na rua, na chuva, na fazenda, ou numa casinha de sapê._ " (1)

Rachel looked at the audience as she sang and then at the bar. Finn wasn't in the usual place. Her boyfriend didn't say whether or not he would pick her up, and Rachel also didn't voice on her wishes. On the other hand, after the couple returned to their usual sexual life, Finn became more disconnected about his girlfriend's safety.

But Rachel was in the most comfortable place in the universe, singing something silly in an arrangement too sophisticated for the song's foolishness. Still, those few verses made her feel good. "Gostar de quem não gosta de mim". Who never had a platonic love? She wasn't even sure what she felt. Platonic love? Maybe not love, but definitely platonic was in the order of the day.

Finn wasn't there, but Rachel did saw the person who populated the thoughts right in the restaurant's bar. As soon as she finished the performance, instead of returning to the tables, she went quickly to the bar.

"A girl said me that the food that served in this restaurant's bar were great. You didn't even have to book a table at this expensive restaurant."

"I heard that too." Rachel smiled. "Still, the price of the snacks here can be too much college for a tiny student's pocket, but I think it's a treat that's worth a try."

"My stomach agrees with you."

"What subtlety."

"Never argue with my stomach."

Rachel didn't quite understand what her friend meant. What Santana hadn't explained to Rachel was that above-normal strength, speed, and endurance meant a peculiar metabolism. In other words, the vigilante needs more food than a normal person.

"You... are you going to stay around?"

"I can give you a ride, if you want."

"In that filthy old car of yours?"

"My filthy old car works. But we can walk, if you want."

Rachel smiled and nodded. She was the last one to sing that night, the restaurant was already empty, and it wouldn't be long before she closed the day's file. The band was on the small stage finishing the last set list. Within an hour, Rachel was in the locker room putting her uniform in the closet in the way to be used again for the next day.

She found Santana outside the restaurant in different outfits than the one she was in. They were the "vigilante suits" and that intrigued Rachel. Santana was wearing loose-fitting jeans, a heavy black jacket, and heavy sneakers. This made Santana look more masculine and completely different from the elegant dress she wore in the restaurant. All that was left was to wear the black ninja-like mask.

"Did you get a phone booth to change clothes?" Rachel teased as they started walking toward the park.

"I climbed on the roof."

"Quit kidding."

There was no joke.

"So... why did you decide to take my invitation now?"

"I was curious. Everyone talks about your famous Saturday night performances. I just thought you were going to sing something more sophisticated."

"Don't you like pop songs?"

"Of course."

"So… shouldn't you keep your secret and keep me away from you?"

"I'm not getting you involved. This is called companionship here. I'll take you to your place and then I'll take care of my own business."

"Is there a lot of business to be solved?"

"That's none of your business, Berry."

"I read the newspaper yesterday. The vigilante has arrested a car thief and saved some gay guys to be beaten, but the police are still furious."

"I avoid accessing the news."

"Why?"

"I'm not a narcissist and I don't want to bother myself."

Rachel rolled her eyes. She knew Santana well enough to know that the girl could be arrogant and narcissistic. At least it was this posture she adored within the theatrical group: full of herself and willing to attack colleagues in the smallest gaps. The original members were the favourite victims, especially Finn and Rachel herself. Not even Tina escaped from the peculiar insults.

"How can you be so strong?" Rachel's question sounded random. "Can you lift things heavier than I do?"

"Not that lifting heavier things than you can is a big deal."

"Come on, Santana. You said you're Buffy like strong. So, do you can lift a car or drop a tree?

"Do you want me to drop a tree or raise a rock just to make a stupid demonstration?"

"Can you?"

"It depends on the tree and the rock." Santana picked up a pebble from the asphalt and threw it up. "See? It's a rock."

"No, it's not a rock and that's not a demonstration."

"Wrong, I said it depends on the rock, and a rock is a rock, even a fragment."

"Now you want to give me geology lessons?"

"Far from it, although I enjoy the subject. We have these notions in architecture and civil engineering."

"Are you one of those kids that made a stone collection?"

"More or less. I had a collection of house designs and liked to use glitter to make outlines and details."

"Houses? Is that why you do architecture?"

"My mother is a real estate broker, and sometimes, when my abuela couldn't take care of me for some reason, mami would take me to work. I loved to go to the houses for sale, running around the empty rooms. Then, when I got home, I tried to remember how they were inside and out. That's how my collection started. My first drawings looked like crazy pipes." Santana smiled and Rachel felt a strange comfort in hearing such a story. The singer appreciated even more the moment because she knew that Santana wasn't to tell such memories for nothing. "Have you always wanted to be a singer?"

"Since I was very little. My dad Leroy compose jingles. As he spent more time at home than my other dad, he taught me things about music: the basics of piano, how to read a score, how to sing in the right tone. The desire to pursue an artistic leisure career has become a life goal. I asked my parents to put me in singing, dancing, theater classes, anything that could help me to be an excellent performer."

"If you've invested so much, why didn't you go into one of these art schools?"

"Because I only wanted the best school. And the best one didn't accept me."

"And no other could fit?"

"Tell me why you choose Free State University."

"Because it's a great institution and because it gave me a scholarship."

"What if you weren't accepted?"

"Berry, when I signed up for colleges, I had options in mind. Free State University was one of them. It wasn't the best university on my list, but it was the one that offered the best value for money. The architecture course is well-regarded, I have a scholarship, and I'm only three hours from home. I can visit my parents and my abuela for a weekend whenever I miss them."

"So, it was a safe choice."

"Still, it was a choice. I could have gone to Metropolis, but I couldn't afford to live in that city. So what's the point?"

Rachel paused to think. She didn't want to lose the argument, but it was difficult against someone who had put forward reasonable arguments.

"Is that school of arts you're looking for one of those that you need to audition for?"

"Yes, it is."

"How many auditions."

"Three phases. First they checked the SATs, the second is a regional audition and the best would make the last selection in Metropolis. I failed the last one."

"What did they claim?"

"There were candidates who were stronger or more interesting than I was. That's all."

"So you didn't fail in anything specific. Was it a matter of preference of the one who evaluated?"

"Kinda. My dance sucks."

"True!"

"Thank you so much for the support."

"It's true. You have decent moves, but nothing extraordinary. It's not like Brittany's and Mike's. Your acting is quite normal. You can do comedy scenes well, but you're always a tone up in the most dramatic scenes. Quinn never received formal training and does better. That girl can't sing, but she's a natural actor."

"Says you want to get somewhere..."

"You're special when you are singing. God damn it for daring to say it, Rachel Berry, but when you're up on the stage singing, you have the power to make people forget. Hearing you is a privilege because that is where you truly put your soul. These highly regarded schools like to choose people who are practically ready. This is very easy for them. But there are so many other places that not only form but give you a chance to help improve other people. They are not the best in name, but they are best in practice. You deserved one of these: a school for those who have their feet on the ground and who seek not perfection, but in overcoming. And overcoming is always more attractive than perfection."

Rachel smiled flattered. A good shiver ran down her spine and her heart warmed. The feeling was great and she felt strange happiness. She held Santana's hand, slowing her down, and risked a kiss on the vigilante's cheek. Santana was surprised and grateful for the gesture. The comfort and warmth of the body was a mutual sensation. They exchanged glances, and both began to lean closer to each other's faces. But as cliché as it sounded, Santana's cell phone rang. She reached into the bottom pocket of her pants and answered. Rachel watched her exchange a few words with apprehension.

The next moment, she felt herself being pulled by the arm.

"Calm down!" Rachel complained and tried to free herself to slow down. "What happened?"

"I promised I would take you safely to your house, and I will comply. But we're going to make the rest of the way faster." They were a few meters from the end of the park and getting to Rachel's building was a hop.

"But Santana..." Rachel slammed once more. "Maybe I can help."

"Of course you can't!"

Santana removed the mask from her jacket pocket, pulled it on, and pulled Rachel into her lap and run. If Rachel wanted a show of the vigilante strength, well, there was a fifty-pound girl carrying Rachel in her arms and running so fast as if Rachel didn't weigh anything. Pretty much Rachel was thrown in front of the building she lived. Rachel had to lean against the wall to keep from falling. She looked out into the street, and saw the vigilante run toward one of the dark exits.

Santana continued to run towards the destination called. When she found a large vehicle, such as a bus, a truck, or a van, she would hang herself in the back and hitchhiker, then jump and get another one in the desired direction. In this movement, between races and rides, it took seven minutes to reach the destination: an area on the outskirts of the city. She circled the area to identify the situation. Apparently, there was tension in front of Angelina's house, one of the city's most prominent community leaders. Santana tried not to be seen, turned on her cell phone in need to find the black van she knew very well. It was the point of reference.

Santana found the vehicle two streets away, higher due to the formation of the neighbourhood on a hillside. Her companions were watching the problem with a binoculars.

"There are three guys in Angelina's house." Santana heard Gen's explanation. "Mercedes is in there as a hostage. The house is surrounded by some guys from the neighbourhood gang and there is a police car with two officers doing the negotiations."

"Is Mercedes in there? What the hell was she doing at Angelina's house at this hour?" Santana was worried.

"I don't know. Maybe she was interviewing Angelina for some article. That's beside the point."

"What about the others?"

"They are coming, but there is a loophole now. Are you with me?"

"You're the genius here." Santana nodded.

"You and Stud clean the area so that me and Flying can get in. If I whistle, Stud comes in."

"Why?"

"Because you're like an elephant in a jewelry store."

"Okay," Stud signaled. "Come on... "

They fired between the backyards. In a mess day like that, families would gather, close their windows, and go to places they considered safer. That kind of situation was an advantage for the two on the front line. Stud signalled to Santana for her to enter through the other side. She positioned herself in a shadow and walked cautiously to the perimeter at risk. The problem: Angelina, the community leader, was indoors with Mercedes and Bruce, Mercedes' fellow journalist who made such a special report about that community. Angelina still had a nine-year-old foster child who was also in there.

The peripheral area of the city is the subject of disputes between different gangs, but the social work developed by Angelina was a kind of neutral field. Someone had the idea of sending three people infiltrated to end the life of the activist. But these three didn't count to be seen or even she had in the company of journalists. A clean murder would attract news, but it could be circumvented. A massacre was another story.

Santana saw the first approach. She waited for the right moment to advance and knock. She was successful. Stud, saw that Santana's position was interesting and that the first of the five guarding fell. He used the power he had, telekinesis, to sulk another in the direction of his colleague. The gang member didn't know what invisible force pushed him and could not even think about it because the next second was unconscious. Santana signalled. She would get the other two and Stud the last. One, two, three. They advanced silently. Santana took care of one as fast as she could and needed to be even faster to take down the second. First she took a trick and then a punch. Stud made life easier. First, he disarmed the gang member using telekinesis, and then once again used the power to dislodge the man and be able to hit him in full.

They didn't have to signal. Santana looked up and there was Flying carrying Gen to enter the house on the second floor window. Gen was given such a nickname because he was one of the developers within the technology company at age 14 and was constantly inventing machines and applications, such as that used on watch cell phones that prevented the tracing of calls. Gen invented the voice changer that was docked in Santana's mask. In addition to being naturally a nerd, Gen had the ability to make accurate movement reading, power that made him a martial arts champion until he discovered that he was unconsciously cheating.

Flying left Gen in one of the windows in the second store, according Gen's calculations. He stepped into the window while his companions waited for a signal, and stood ready to knock down anyone who decided to circle the house. Gen walked silently. Instead of the heavy sneakers that Santana or Stud wore, he wore taekwondo sneakers: they were light and silent. Two of the bandits were in the room with the hostages. The other was guarded in the kitchen, certainly intrigued by the sudden silence. Gen came down the stairs hopping in the vain not to be seen. He calculated the right time to run into the kitchen and hide behind the counter as opposed to the armed man. This was a very beautiful and somewhat luxurious home for that kind of neighbourhood, he thought. He picked up a little mirror and the blowpipe with tranquilizers he carried with him. One, two, three, in one swift motion, stepped out of position and blew the gun. The gang member felt the sting in his neck. The substance acted fast. He became sleepy and it was the opportunity for Gen to strike him without making a sound. One less. Two were missing. He would need Stud.

Gen opened the kitchen door and whistled. Stud answered almost immediately. Ah, the sneakers. Santana wore them because she thought it was part of her vigilante persona style. Stud were them because they were useful in civil construction. In one way or another, they didn't serve the subtlety that the situation demanded. Gen worked out a plan in seconds. The action would have to be simultaneous. He made gestures and whispered as low as he could, then positioned himself. One, two, three, Stud made a noise in the kitchen. He attracted one of the bandits and this made it possible for Gen to enter the room. A shot was fired. The people in front of the house shook. Luckily caught no one. The next minute the hostages, including Mercedes Jones, walked out the front door while the guards ran through the back door. Mission accomplished.

The vigilantes returned to the van and found flying waiting. Or almost. Words didn't have to be said at that moment. They simply got into the vehicle and got out of there. Stud removed his mask as he took the wheel. He was euphoric.

"That was awesome. It was great!" He repeated.

"We got them!" Santana celebrated.

"A perfect group work." Flying celebrated.

"Let's just see what the boss is going to say." Gen removed his mask. He always tried to control the euphoria.

Stud was Matt Rutherford, a member of the amateur theater, along with Santana and Artie, who was known as "flying." Ironically, the man in a wheelchair was able to fly and float, though he did so with his body in a vertical. Still, it was wonderful to be able to get out of the jail whenever no one was around. Gen listened by the name of Grant Fish, son of a great lawyer of the city. Santana's battle name was Hammer, because of her strength.

Matt drove the van into a small building near the industrial sector. He parked in the internal garage and the members got out of the vehicle into the building. A sedan car stopped just behind. People headed downstairs to a lounge that looked more like a boxing gym with a ring, sandbags, and some weight machines.

"That was insane," the boss said as soon as he found himself in the security of the walls with the commanded.

"It all worked out." Santana smiled.

"But it could have gone wrong. I know that Grant is the leader on the field, but not in such a situation. Not when Angelina was involved" The boss continued to bronch.

"And Mercedes," Artie said.

"We acted inside the open window." Grant was justified. "The plan was perfect, though impromptu. Even the beast here did everything right." He referred to Santana, who didn't like the nickname.

"Still, it was unnecessary exposure. I put this group together, I train this group to do really important jobs. Not for you play vigilante in this city. You are getting out of hand these days and if that action is wrong, it could put us all at risk. Or didn't you stop to think about it?"

"Out of hand because of Santana," Matt defended himself. "She's the one who's looking for publicity."

"What's the use of being willing to be a group of superheroes if it's not to fight the scum and protect innocent people?" Santana justified himself. "This city is collapsing, part of the police is conniving to the mafia and you want me to keep training in this place without doing anything else? Besides, my best friend was in danger in that house. Grant was right to act. I'm glad he did and that he called me."

"We have our trenches and you have to respect that once and for all," the boss rumbled and fell silent.

The boss stared at the team. Grant Fish, the nerd prodigy who was able to take readings of movements and anticipate them. He was his first student followed and Matt Rutherford, the gifted telekinesis boy who came to town specially to meet him and be trained. The sweet Brittany Pierce, the third student who had the gift to heal, but can't resuscitate as she tried to do once with a cat. And the most recent students: Santana Lopez, endowed with strength, stamina and speed above normal, and Artie Abrams, the boy who can fly... vertically because of his paralysed legs. There was also Mercedes Jones, who had no superpower, but learned of the group's existence because of her best friends. In addition, she promised to keep it secret and still help with investigations.

So many personalities, so many impulses and a delicate harmony that prevented everything from getting out by hand. And it was almost out of hand according to the Boss.

"Today's episode can have an undesirable repercussion, so everyone is in a state of silence, which means not going to the streets, do you understand, Lopez?"

"Yes, sir," She said without really feeling the need to comply with the order.

"But what about the investigations?" Grant took the floor. "An attempt on Angelina's life may be related to something serious, like file burning, perhaps."

"It's not what it seems to me," the Boss thought. "Anyway, I'll direct Mercedes to find out information," he saw everyone nod. "Today was a long night. Go home and we'll meet another time."

The news of the release of the community leader by the action of at least one vigilante had repercussions in the press the following day. Mercedes Jones, for example, stayed late into the night by giving testimony to police and answering requests from fellow journalists. She collected some information for herself. But what everyone was upset about was not for the threat to Angelina's life or the alleged gang clash. The vigilante and the possible motivations were the main mystery that shared opinions. Some people looked upon the figure as the righteous man the city needed. Others speculated that he acted according to an obscure agenda, probably political. One way or another, the figure came to be sought by the police. Many common thieves who committed crimes using black fabric masks were captured and interrogated. The Falastars were said to be the vigilantes, but they were easily denied. Nothing more frustrating for the police chief.

…

"I can't handle this guy" Finn grunted as he and his girlfriend heard the news on the car radio in the morning, when he and Rachel were on their way to a social meet with Carole Hudson-Hummel.

"You used to like the vigilante's idea. Now, you hate him. I don't understand you." Rachel commented.

"He's an arrogant one."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just know," Finn snapped, "I hope the cops get the crest off this guy."

"This guy saved me," Rachel snorted.

"Did he really save?" Finn snorted. "This guy let Battes touch you and rape you before he did something."

"Who said he kept looking and waited the second accurate to avoid? You weren't there, Finn. Who are you to draw such conclusions?"

"You shouldn't be so vehement, Rachel. He's not a real vigilante."

"You speak like you know him."

"Maybe I've traded a word or two with him."

"When?" Rachel was surprised.

"One day he approached me." Finn clasped his hands against the wheel. "And he threatened me."

Rachel was silent. Santana despise Finn and this was too well known. But she would act like this as the vigilante? Why? Santana was with Rachel the night before. Rachel saw the moment of such a call that made Santana shake and put on the mask. The news revealed the reason: it was to save the life of a girl working on the outskirts of the city (that was Rachel's vision) and that Mercedes Jones was involved. Did Santana and Mercedes have a relationship other than being roommates?

When they arrived at the botanical fair, especially orchid farming, Rachel hugged Carole and walked side by side with her supposed future mother-in-law for a good chunk of the ride. The subject bored Rachel and at the first opportunity, she slipped away and said she would buy some water with the salesman who installed a carriage forward. Rachel did buy a bottle, but didn't return to the exhibition immediately. She looked at the cell phone. She didn't want to call, but the urge to know was stronger. She pulled away from the people and dialed the number.

" _What's up Berry?_ "

"When did you meet Finn?" The question surprised Santana at first. But the vigilante should know that sooner or later Finn would tell Rachel about their meeting.

" _Last time I met him was in the rehearsal. You were there too. Don't you remember?_ " Santana tried to be smart and cynical.

"I mean, with a mask."

There was silence on the phone, but Rachel could hear the breath on the other end of the line.

"Santana," Rachel insisted.

" _Are you alone? I hear a noise._ "

"I'm on the street, in front of the exhibition shed. There is nobody close to me, stay calm. I wouldn't betray you."

" _I had to do it. There wasn't another option._ " Santana said hesitantly.

"But haw this happened? I need an explanation."

" _I'll summarize the story, Berry. your boyfriend went to Howard Battes' house armed with a racket and a baseball bat in order to finish what I started. I found out and anticipated myself. I wait, I almost miss my day to prevented your boyfriend to make a big mess. So, I stopped him and hit him a little bit for personal pleasure._ "

"Finn would never do that" Rachel was furious. "He wouldn't hit a man that was just out of a hospital. Which, incidentally, ended there because of you. Finn wouldn't hit a man who couldn't defend himself, as bad as this man was. "

" _I know what I did, Berry, and I have my conscience to judge me. The question is: do you know your boyfriend so well to put your hand on the fire for him? What I told you is true. Now whether you believe it or not is your problem._ "

Santana turned off the phone. Rachel was furious. She tried to call again, but Santana didn't answer. Rachel drank the water, faked a smile, and returned to her boyfriend and mother-in-law. They were also already outgoing: they fulfilled the social commitment after posing for some photos that would be published in the local social column.

In the truck, on the way to the movies, Rachel briefly broke the silence.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"If you were there, that day... if you had seen that man on top of me. What would he have done?"

Finn glanced quickly at his girlfriend, and a scrap of paper rested on his face as he turned his attention back to the traffic.

"I would have killed him. No doubt."

...

...

(1) Na rua, na chuva na fazenda, by Hyldon

" _I'm not willing to forget your face for once, and I think it's so normal / They say I'm crazy, because I have a taste like this: liking who doesn't like me / Throw your hands to the heavens and thank if there's anyone else that you wish it were always with you / on the street, in the rain, on the farm, or in a little house with thatched roof._ "

'Na rua, na chuva, na fazenda' was a song of the Brazilian funk movement of the 1970s. Hylton was a minor artist of that generation, who had the exuberant Tim Maia as main representative. In the 1990s, the trio Kid Abelha, led by Paula Toller, made a cover of this song and it became a hit. Kid Abelha was formed in 1981 and was part of the 'BRock' fever (abbreviation for Brazilian Rock) in the 1980s, when, for the first and only time, rock was the most popular musical style in the country. The most incredible thing about Kid Abelha was that critics said the band wouldn't last five years, partly because of sexism for it being the only one of that generation led by a woman. But the trio only split in 2016, after 35 years of uninterrupted activity.

Search: Kid Abelha Na rua


	8. Quinn's story

Some important considerations:

1 - The songs are in Portuguese and the translation of the mentioned verses goes at the end of each chapter;

2 - Also at the end of the chapter will be posted comments on artists and video suggestions on Youtube.

3 – Review!

...

"More coffee?" Quinn frowned at Matt in a way he thought was lovely.

"Yes, please, thank you."

It became a kind of tradition for Matt to climb two stories of the building to have breakfast with Quinn Fabray. He was 24. She was 21. They met two years ago when she moved into the building, but Matt had the impression that he knew her for a lifetime. Quinn had a little girl in her arms: Beth. They had nothing but two luggage and two mattresses newly purchased at a nearby shop. The rent of that neighbourhood was one of the cheapest in that city. It was a region considered problematic, the population was poorer and mostly formed by blacks and Latinos.

The apartments were small, the kind where the living room and kitchen were together and there were two very small bedrooms with a bathroom in between. Matt offered to climb up with the mattresses. Then Beth complained that her stomach was empty. Quinn looked at the neighbour with terrible embarrassment. All she had in her daughter's purse was a box juice and half a packet of cookies. It was Matt's cue to offer them both hot milk with chocolate and a ham and cheese sandwich. Meal of the gods for a hungry Quinn.

Matt came to town two years earlier. The family heard that there was a teacher who knew how to deal with people with special abilities and passed the news to the youngest son of three. That's when he met the boss. He moved to town and was eager to deal with the powers, which sometimes ran out of hand and resulted in minor tragedies. Like the day he "pushed" the older brother and he broke his arm on the impact against the door. He began to train and, to remain independent in the city, he took a technical course in carpentry. He was hired months later by a construction company.

The theater happened after meeting Quinn Fabray. A boy was distributing pamphlets on a downtown corner about a play from the amateur theatre. Matt fought it could be a nice e invited Quinn. That's the first time they saw Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson and cia. At the end of the play, which was quite decent, Quinn said theater could be something nice to do since it was free and the meeting were twice a week at night. All they had to do was an audition to be accept. Matt didn't sing or act well, but he could dance. He had taken part in a street dance group as a teenager. Quinn had once said that she attended the school's theater group at high school and that was her favourite extra-curricular activity that time.

Quinn and Matt met Santana, Artie and Mercedes on the same audition day. Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson were on the bench. Brittany and Mike were already part of the company. There weren't many candidates competing and so it was not difficult to be accepted. That's when the current group was formed to stage the new play: "Tropicália". It was almost certain that the same group wouldn't remain for the company's next project. It was what always happened. But Quinn had plans on staying with the group. And if she did, Matt's chances of getting along were also great. He was in love with Quinn and she knew it.

Quinn sometimes agree to go out with Matt, but make sure they were in the friendzone. It wasn't about racial problems. Quinn wouldn't mind having a relationship with a black man. She didn't want to get involved with any man and made it clear. In time Matt accepted the condition that he was just a friend. He had coffee at her house some mornings, then left Beth at school and Quinn near the bookstore before moving on to the work he worked for.

"There are great movies on the mall theathers," Matt commented as he devoured his cereal and banana. "We should see one of them."

"I'm so out of date for these things." Quinn sipped the milk.

"Wouldn't you like to go to the movies today?"

"I don't know, Matt."

"Come on! I'm proposing to my best friend in the world to enjoy one afternoon at the mall to watch a movie and eat a burger afterwards. Nothing more. And Beth's nanny is on me."

Quinn stared at her friend. Her eyes were too tired and too melancholy for such a young girl.

"Matt, I don't know..."

"It's holiday. Unless you have some commitment, what's the problem with having some fun?"

Quinn remained silent and finished her glass of milk. Matt nodded and got up from the table without finishing his cup of coffee. He felt like an idiot for being a hopeful even when all she thought about was friendship.

"See you, Quinn."

"Wait!" She said urgently, "I didn't refuse."

"So?"

"I remembered that drama movie with Tom Hanks I would like to watch."

"Oh. Look like it's a good one." Matt smiled.

"Call the nanny. Tell her to come at four. Can be?"

Matt nodded and left the apartment. Once alone, Quinn set the dishes in the sink and began the household routine. Washing, tidying, ironing, laundry... Keeping up with the work she couldn't do during the week.

"Beth!"

"Yes, Mommy!" The little girl answered from her small room.

"Put the shoe on. We are going to the laundry shop."

"Can I bring my new doll?" She ran into the living room and her eyes widened hopefully. It was something that always made Quinn smile and calm her heart. Beth was everything in her life.

"Yes, my dear."

It didn't take long for mom and daughter to cross the street to the nearest laundry shop. One more activity in Quinn Fabray's dull routine. She already left the house with her clothes separated, put the coins in the machine, as well as the cleaning products. She'd been waiting for the whole process watching a little television while Beth was entertained in the inner world with her new doll. At first, some people made faces of astonishment when that gorgeous white princess moved in and began to attend the laundry, the playground and the local market. That was more shocking than the fact that Quinn was a young single mother who became pregnant in her teens. This was a common reality in the neighbourhood. In time, they became accustomed to both. Quinn was discreet, quiet and polite. She quickly understood who she should just greet for education (dealers, pimps, etc.) and whom she could have a certain friendship with. Matt helped a lot with it.

Still, that place and that life was a much better than the one Quinn was living at her home town. Her parents kicked her out because of her pregnancy, but truth be told: they had rejected her well before. Her jock boyfriend at school tried to do the right thing. Even without officially marrying, he put Quinn into his own home despite his parents hating the daughter-in-law. She became a wife who was constantly let down, but who kept silent. Quinn needed those people at least until she graduated at high school.

She would come home from school, do the work, take care of Beth, and go to bed with her boyfriend. In the first few months before her daughter's birth, he's still treat Quinn with love. He would swear and create stories of what a happy and prosperous family would look like. That how they could make it work at college: he would get a football scholarship while Quinn would do business to learn how to manage everything he would conquer. Then, the cheats began and Quinn pretended not to see because she had nowhere to go and depended on that family.

Time passed and her boyfriend seemed to have been sick of her, he had no patience with her daughter and accused Quinn of being the cause of everything that was getting wrong in his life. However, on certain nights, he made her open her legs because at least he had this compensation. The touch was no longer affectionate and several times Quinn simply turned her face, closed her eyes, and hoped to finish. He began to call her "glacier pussy". Quinn smiled with her nickname. She thought it was pertinent.

The boyfriend's family wasn't the most loving one. They treated Beth like a princess and Quinn like a post with the burned-out lamp, so it was useless, but it was always there, upsetting. One day, the boyfriend got the rejection letter from the university. When Quinn got the letter of acceptance from an important university, it was the last drop. He beaten her. Hard. She went to the hospital with two ribs and nose broke. That's when she decided to go with Beth's full custody process and a charge against the boyfriend. Quinn won. That pissed the boyfriend's family a lot. They tried to kill her. That's when the greatest secret Quinn kept, one of the reasons her own family had so easily dismissed her, manifested itself. Her secret saved her.

Quinn packed her bags. She had only the money from the compensation that the boyfriend's family paid (but half of it was to pay the attorneys' fees). So, she got the bus with Beth to a new city where she could have a fresh start. She got her job at the bookstore and sometimes, when the money tightens, she does cleaning service to supplement the income.

That's why Quinn didn't want to get romantically involved with anyone. She liked Matt, really, but everything that happened to her was still fresh. Besides, there was the secret. She needed every possible emotional stability to keep it in check.

Quinn finished washing her clothes and went home with Beth. She smiled when the little girl complained about the weight of the pack of soap powder: 250g. Beth made gestures as if she was making a great effort with her arms. As a good mother, Quinn prepared a healthy lunch for the little girl: she grated carrots, grilled chicken fillet, washed the lettuce and made a great sandwich. Beth ate almost everything on the plate, which was a success in Quinn's playbook.

After tidying up the kitchen, Quinn played with her daughter a little bit before getting ready for the date. Frankly, even though it wasn't an official date, deep down Quinn missed some romance and Matt was a safe choice.

"You look beautiful, Mama." Beth was watching Quinn do the makeup.

"Do you think Uncle Matt will like it?"

"I do." Beth looked thoughtful. "Why can't I go with you?"

"It's an adult date, sugar."

"But you say theater rehearsals are also for adults and sometimes you take me."

"This is a different adult thing."

"Are you going to kiss Uncle Matt?"

"What? Beth!"

"I've seen Rachel kissing Finn a lot of times. And one day I saw Jane kissing her boyfriend." Jane was the usual nanny. Nothing more than a teenager who lived in the same building and made some money helping Quinn.

"Rachel and Finn are dating. Jane is old enough to have a boyfriend. Matt and I aren't dating and that's why we don't kiss."

"Why don't you want to be Uncle Matt's girlfriend?"

"Beth!" Quinn paused a little at the makeup. "Why all these questions now?"

"Because all my friend's mothers have husbands or boyfriends. Only you who don't have it."

"And you would like me to date Uncle Matt?"

"I think so. He is nice to me and sometimes gives me gifts. And that time he bought ice cream for me when we went downstairs to the playground because I wanted to play and you wouldn't let me."

"Really?" Quinn raised an eyebrow.

"Oops." She put her hands to her mouth. "Uncle Matt said I couldn't tell you because you'd be angry."

"And what did you do on that playground?" She tensed.

"Oh, I played with Patricia while Uncle Matt was talking to her mother. I don't like Patricia's mother. She would run her hand over Uncle Matt's arm all the time."

Hilary Berson, Patricia's mother, is a divorcee woman who lives on the fourth floor. She works as a receptionist for a clinic and is famous for her full breasts: something she doesn't hesitate to show.

Quinn finished putting on her makeup and waited for Jane to arrive. Soon after, Matt knocks on the door. He was surprised to see Quinn so neatly dresses, to the point of embarrassing him. He was wearing social shirt, jeans and sports shoe.

"I think I exaggerated." Quinn said uncomfortably.

"No, it's great! Let's go?"

They went downstairs (the elevator of the building was under maintenance) and into Matt's old car in the direction of the city's shopping mall. They chose the Tom Hank's movie Quinn said she wanted to watch. They split the popcorn, the soda, and almost at the end of the session they intertwined their fingers. The gesture gave the salesperson a good shudder: she hadn't allowed such affection for a long time. They walked hand in hand looking at the shop windows because they didn't know exactly what to do. They were both nervous.

"I'm enjoying this date," Quinn commented as she left the mall.

"We need to do it again."

"Sure." Quinn smiled as Matt opened the car door for her.

"Shall we go home or would you like to go somewhere else?"

"Home, please"

Quinn's thoughts were lost when, suddenly, Matt crashed his car. Matt got out the car to check if those involved were fine. The Honda Civic' man was mad because the signal was green for him and Matt was the one who didn't paid attention. Luckily that was a low speed street and nobody get hurt.

"Are you okay, sir?" Matt approached. "I'm really sorry. I didn't saw you."

"Look what you did?" The man stepped irritated. "You just ruined my holiday. Do you think excuses are enough?"

"I'm sorry. I'll pay for it."

"You better, nigga."

"What?"

"Just because you're fucking some white whore, you think you can't pay any attention? That you are the king of this city?"

"Excuse-me!" Matt controlled himself to not punch the guy. "Just take my phone number and call when you have the repair budget." He threw the business card with the phone number on the man's face.

Matt was punched in the face. Quinn, who was around, screamed and tried to pull his friend so he wouldn't retaliate. What surprised Matt wasn't the man's racism, much less the punch he took, but Quinn's incredibly icy hands. It was ice cold from someone who stayed ten minutes with its hand on the ice and then took somebody else's skin. The people broke the fight principle and Matt got away from there. Quinn was still holding his arm with an incredibly icy hand. When she realized it, she opened her eyes wide and released him. It left a mark.

"Let's go home, please!" She was so nervous she was shaking.

Matt nodded and they both got back into the car. He drove quietly into the neighbourhood where they lived and couldn't help noticing the sudden Quinn's nervousness. He was worried about his friend. The experience told him that there was something else and that hir friend might have no idea how to handle it.

"What's going on, Quinn?" He asked as he parked the car.

"Nothing..." She turned her face. "I just got nervous about the fight."

"Quinn" Matt tried to be cautious. "Your hand..."

"I was nervous!" She insisted. "Doesn't your hand get cold when you get nervous?"

"Not this cold."

"I already said that the crash made me nervous. Can we get over it?"

Matt realized that he wasn't going to gain her trust just talking. There was a clear policy of not disclosing the secret under any circumstances. No one, outside the group, could know of the special abilities. Absolutely no one. But Quinn has something hiding.

"I should go. Beth is waiting."

"Wait!" Matt used telesynesia to lock the car door. Quinn's eyes widened and she held her breath as if to scream in the next second. "Quinn," he said matter-of-factly, "I need to tell you something. A secret about me. But you have to promise to listen well and stay calm. Can I trust you? "

"You..."

"Look!" He said firmly, trying to keep track of the situation. "I know there are people born with some special gifts. I don't understand how or why, but they do exist. "

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said defensively. "You must have read too many comic books," she laughed nervously.

"Maybe." Matt took the car keys and put them into the palm of his hand. Slowly, the keys began to float and move toward Quinn, who was even more perplexed. "It took a while for me to have that kind of control. I left my hometown because I used to cause a few incidents, such as knocking down a board against the wall on top of someone without even touching a finger on it. All because I was nervous. My family was worried. First, we try church. But church didn't help at all: just the opposite. My parents heard of a specialist teacher who lives in this city. That's why I came here. I have a gift. But just like all people who also have a special gift, it takes training to learn how to deal with them. It takes training, Quinn. You have to lose your fear and learn to control it."

"I... I don't have any problems..."

"Who said this was a problem?"

Quinn stared at Matt and thought for a moment.

"This guy who helped you still lives in this city?"

"Yeah. He was helping two persons to deal with these special issues when I showed up. Since then, I have never dropped anything without actually wanting or causing accidents. I still can't say that I have 100% of the domain and my potential, but I'm getting there."

Quinn took a deep breath and relaxed. She wiped a few tears before facing Matt. She timidly took her friend's hand again. It was cold. But the curious fact was that it grew colder.

"It started when I was 12. My parents took me to a doctor because my body temperature was always lower than average. But they didn't find anything that was causing it. I was just fine. My father said I was cursed. When I got pregnant, I thought I was cured of it because I could never freeze again when I was nervous. It only lasted until I stopped breastfeeding Beth. I started to freeze again. You know the story of Beth's father, that he wasn't a nice guy. But when I lived with him, I lived as if I were his wife. From the moment things changed and I stopped feeling desire to do it, I stopped liking it, things cooled down there too."

Matt's mouth felt open, and then he burst out laughing.

"It's not funny!" Quinn was shocked.

"Sorry, Quinn, but it is!"

Laughing even louder, the sound infected the saleswoman. Maybe it was a little funny. Quinn remembered the grimaces that Beth's father made when he penetrated his penis, gave a few thrusts, and cursed her because it was icy cold and he lost his temper. They stopped having sex. Quinn hadn't had sex for three years.

"What about the cooling?" Matt spoke again after calming down.

"It happens quite often when I get nervous... but there's no one to touch me to check out other than Beth."

"What she say?"

"She doesn't mind, I guess. Or she might think it's normal."

"You have no desire to discover the potential you have with such power? This my friend could help."

"I don't know, Matt. I would have to think first."

"Right" He unlocked the car door. "Anyway, whenever you need to talk about it, know that you can count on me. You don't have to hide it from me."

"Thank you." She wiped away a few more tears. "That was a great date."

"I thought it wasn't a date," Matt teased.

"It ended up being one."

"Dating usually ends with a kiss," he ventured.

He stared at his friend. She moistened her lips before pressing them against Matt's. It was a quick, yet sweet and meaningful kiss to Matt. It was a different feeling for Quinn to be wanted by someone who knew her secret. She felt good.

"Beth is waiting" She got out of the car.

"See you tomorrow?"

"You always have coffee with me before you work. Why change now?"

...

Life was normal again for Finn. At least his holiday was spectacular. Rachel was calmer and slept better. If she still had nightmares, they weren't so bad as to make her wake up wet with sweat. Even the shadow of the masked vigilante was milder. The infamous encounter with the vigilante was pushed into the past and all he wanted to do at that moment was to enjoy a little more of the day. The restaurant was closed for a week for repairs and maintenance in the kitchen. It would be like an extended holiday to Rachel.

On Sunday morning, after a good night of sex, Finn strolled with his girlfriend to the city's biweekly fair. They stopped at a stall selling rustic percussion instruments from some acquaintances. Finn was always a musical subject and he practices at his mechanical workshop, in a room he made especially for the band's rehearsal. Finn looked at the bongos and a second-hand tom, he wasn't interested in tambourines and timpani. Finn liked to increase his drum and to collect rare pieces.

"How much for the tom?" He asked.

"$75." Finn became interested.

"Do you already have a buyer?"

"Not yet."

"What do you think, Rach?" He analysed the instrument. Rachel was a great singer and scratched a little piano, but she wasn't interested in drums.

"It looks like it's in good condition."

"It's in excellent condition..."

As Finn studied the instrument, Rachel looked at a nearby jewellery stall. She told her boyfriend that she would take a look while he was negotiating the tom.

"Make yourself home," said the saleswoman and probable craftswoman of those jewellery.

Rachel tried some rings, but she was really interested in earrings. Got some, tried the weight.

"This isn't good on you," Rachel was surprised to hear a voice that was familiar but unexpected for the moment. "The other one was better."

Rachel looked at Santana and frowned. They spent the rehearsals avoiding each other after the discussion on the phone. But the truth is that Rachel missed the vigilante's attention and vice versa. Rachel looked away. Some booths from there Finn was testing musical instruments and was too focused on it. Rachel turned to Santana and straightened her posture.

"Are you sure?" She tried to be casual. "This one is handsome too."

"It is, but it doesn't suit you. You dress badly, like a librarian in a bizarre Japanese porn movie, but you wear discreet costume jewellery and you have that little saltless bug on your neck with the name of your silly giant as if you were his property. It looks like a leash. This earring is sexy, for women who know their own nose. I don't know if that's your case, Berry. This other earring is for discreet and behaved girls. They are for good girls who obey their boyfriends and become dedicated wives. That's definitely your case."

Rachel looked at the college girl in her usual tight-fitting dress, her heeled boot, and her jacket. Her hair was loose and well-combed. On her face, a light makeup, but with the preponderant lipstick. Definitely female and sexy. Santana exuded power within a golden predator. Her arrogant civil persona was a lot different from the caring and strong vigilante persona. Rachel was intrigued by it. Who was the real Santana Lopez? As if the black jacket and male's jeans promoted a change of personality.

"Ma'am, how much are these two?"

"Fifteen."

Rachel took the money in her purse and handed it in exchange for the earrings. She took the supposed sexy earring and put it, then she handed the discreet to Santana.

"A gift. Maybe it's time for me to be a bit more daring and for you to be better behaved."

Santana accepted the gift with puzzled expression.

"Thanks."

"Winning gifts from girls, Santana?"

They heard a female voice from behind. It was Jenny, who walked to the college student and hugged her around the waist, as if marking the territory. Rachel looked at the scene and was puzzled. It was the effect it had on Santana whenever she saw the girl.

"You remember Rachel Berry, right?" Santana re-introduced them. "She's part of the theater group I go to with Mercedes and Artie."

"Rachel!" Finn went to his girlfriend and took her hand. He faced the two young women at the front, since he hated one of them. "Hey Santana."

"Hey... Well, we're going. Thank you for the gift, Rachel. "

"You're welcome."

They passed the couple and followed their path. Rachel looked back in time to see Santana and Jenny interlacing their fingers.

"What gift?" Finn called her back to reality.

"A jewellery earring I bought. She came by surprise and gave one of those typical rude opinions. I thought it was good to give her a lesson."

"By giving her a gift?"

"Yes. It's a women way to give some messages." She hugged her boyfriend again. "Did you get the tom?"

"Yes I did. I'll come back and get it after I get the money out of the bank."

"Cool." She smiled at her boyfriend.

…

In another neighbourhood of the city, while Beth was playing with other kids on the playground in the square in front of the building she lived, Quinn was reading information material from community college. She had plans to study again in the next term. Maybe she could do some online course since she didn't have much time left and money to pay nannies. Beth was smart. The five years old girl had the strength to hold onto the bars and swing herself along with the boys. Then the kid would run around the playground. Quinn was there watching everything and listen some music in her earphones.

" _Olhe bem para essa curva/ do meu riso raso e roto/ veja essa boca muda/ disfarçando o desgosto/ A vida tem sido água/ fazendo caminhos esguios/ se abrindo em veios e vales/ na pele leito de rio._ " (1)

"Mom... water!" Beth asked and Quinn gave her the water bottle with drawings of Disney princesses. Beth drank a little and grimaced. "Too warm."

"Really?" Quinn smiled. "Let me see it."

She held the bottle and tried to let her power flow. Her hand went cold, but not enough to cool the water in the bottle. Maybe she really needed training. Maybe Matt could help her.

"How about we get home and eat something? It's about time you said bye to your friends anyway."

"But mommy, more five minutes."

"Say bye to your friends Elizabeth."

Quinn drank some of the warm water and held it in her mouth. The liquid went down cold. It was refreshing.

...

…

(1) Na Pele, by Pitty

"Look at this curve / of my broken and shallow laughter / see that mute mouth / disguising the displeasure / Life has been water / making slender paths / opening in veins and valleys / in the riverbed skin."

Pitty is the main name of Brazilian rock of this century. In fact, she's the only rock artist or band that is making hits in the present time. Elza Soares is a samba singer. Ironically it's the 81-years-old Elza Soares who is going through the best moment of her career. Elza's latest two albums were considered masterpieces. Na Pele (In Skin) is one of the tracks of Elza's most recent album (2017) and it is also considered one of the best Pitty's recent compositions.

Search Youtube: Elza Pitty Na Pele

I also recommend: 'Me Adora', Pitty and 'A Carne', Elza Soares.


	9. Mercedes' role

Mercedes swore she would have to handcuff Santana to bed. Thought better. If her friend could bend iron rods, she would probably break the handcuff chains easily. Maybe chains with a big padlock. Mercedes was worried about her friend's double life. Especially after Santana's vigilant persona became more frequent. In the beginning, Santana would go out from time to time and handcuff small thieves. But after she was able to find and deliver pedophiles to the police (with the help of Artie and Grant) her outings became more frequent, more investigative. It wasn't just the press and the police that disapproved of. The Boss disapproved. And Mercedes had some fear of the Boss.

Whenever she patrolled until late of the night, Santana was always late for her first class because she couldn't wake up in time. Mercedes was worried that her friend's grades could drop and Santana would lose her scholarship. Mercedes had another kind of life. She didn't have superpowers, she wasn't a vigilante. She just liked to know about them and, maybe, help sometimes. Mercedes liked to think that her power of articulation were her special gifts. She loved the mornings, use to getting up early, fixing her bed, reading the headlines, checking messages, and getting ready for another day at the journalism college. Only then, when she was already dressed and with her backpack ready, she tried to wake up her roommate.

"Fifteen more minutes." Santana grumbled.

"San, in fifteen minutes you have to go to class."

Santana opened her eyes and mumbled loudly before finding out. She used to sleep in loose-fitting old t-shirts and pajama shorts without panties. Nothing more. Mercedes was already used to her friend's stark nightgowns. It was a victory conquered with much discussion that the vigilante dress something to sleep. Mercedes still remembered the first week of college. When they met, they set rules. Things like no boyfriends or casual one night stands in that room without the other one conceding, no parties inside, no loud music after ten at night, no one to borrow things from the other without warning before, no smoking, no masturbating while the other was in the same room. Those were fair terms.

One fine morning on a hot day, Mercedes woke up with Santana sprawled on the other bed and she was completely naked. It was embarrassing. The nakedness followed for a few more days. Santana argued that she didn't like wearing pyjamas and blamed the mania of kicking the blankets in the middle of the night by waking up so exposed. One day the journalist decided to make it stop: no sleep naked. Santana grunted. That made Mercedes buy a bunch of lightweight, stretchy-toned shorts, large t-shirts and presented her friend. They were light and loose. Santana accepted in the name of good living together. Mercedes and she were good roommates and they knew they were very lucky.

"Damn, I'll be late again," the vigilante grunted and Mercedes rolled her eyes.

"That's your problem, Satan."

Mercedes smiled as she closed the door and listened for a second loud grunt. As usual, she found Artie and her boyfriend David Mills in the cafeteria for breakfast in the building near the dormitory. She loved bacon, despite David's protests, who was an adept at vegetarianism. Mercedes was rather overweight, but she was in good health. She had no diabetes, no cholesterol, and no high blood pressure. She didn't exercise in the classical sense, but she walked a lot in college and in the newspaper, in addition to rehearsals in the theater. She also had all the extracurricular secret activity she was involved in. So, yes, she allowed herself to eat bacon for breakfast and pancakes with honey.

"Are you going to rehearse tonight?" David asked.

"I wouldn't miss today's rehearsal for nothing in this world," Mercedes replied and received a look of approval from her best friend.

"What's going to happen?" The boyfriend was intrigued.

"Remember I told you about Finn Hudson? Even Schuester got tired of his bad rehearsals and decided to make adaptations in the play to fit a new, main character who could sing everything that Hudson can't. The audition of this new face is today."

"There's an excess of venom here," Artie said. "Finn is still important to the group and is the director's number one man. He may not be a good singer or actor, but he plays for the team, unlike certain divas."

"Just because I think I'm better than Rachel Berry? She's only the leading female role for being white and skinny. "

"Schuester is not a racist, Cedes. And Rachel Berry has been in this group since the beginning."

"But loyalty was taken more into account than merit in that group. That's not right. I sing better than Rachel and I wasn't even choosing to be the understudy of her part. Tina is. Tina Chang! For God sake, even Santana Lopez sings better than Tina Chang!"

"I'd say there's a draw. Between you and Rachel, a mean." Santana surprised everybody and sat at the table with the usual absurd amount of food. Mercedes hated her for it: it was unfair that she couldn't eat much, while Santana could chew at every moment without getting fat. "You are awesome, but she's a better actress and her style fits the character."

"You've been defending Rachel a lot these days. It's odd." Artie observed.

"You're odd" Santana muttered.

"Anyway, today we will rehearse my solo." Mercedes smiled anxiously and clapped. "Tim Maia..." and made high five with her friends.

"Wait..." David drawled in his memory, "I thought your music was a Nara Leão cover."

"Yeah, but the diva's voice here doesn't fit in that whisper. Tim Maia is more my liking. We changed the lyrics a little to fit the context of the play, but I think it will be all right. "

"Actually, Weezy here almost ate Schuester's head to sing at least one she liked." Santana chuckled.

"It was for the good of the play."

Mercedes scowled with mockery at the other two. When Tina appeared, Artie took the opportunity to "take a ride" with her classmate and theater partner, leaving the diva a little alone with her boyfriend. David was a curious and interested guy in the life of his girlfriend who, in turn, sought to supply him with family stories, friends, what her life was like in her hometown, how she helped her mother make handicrafts to sell at the fair free the weekend. It was a good childhood in the eyes of the young woman: she had some friends, she wasn't popular at school, but that didn't stop her from enjoying what was offered to her. And she told of the experiences in the talent shows and in the theater group of the school.

The passion for journalism was born by chance. A friend terrified of getting accepted into the best universities said that extracurricular activities and volunteer work were taken into account. Mercedes only had the theatre club and thought that this and the good grades might not be enough. She looked for other available activities and found a place in the school newspaper. She thought she would deal with cultural matters, but as is tradition, beginners from the school newspaper can't choice to write something really good with the material offered. Sometimes Mercedes had to cover events that no one else wanted, such as a public school board meeting.

But to her own surprise, Mercedes not only came to like the job that no one else wanted as she created ways to make it more appealing to the reader. Mercedes made a good portfolio and also won a statewide journalism award for high school students. Getting a partial scholarship at the university was another victory won by the young journalist. The only frustration was that people knew her name more than her appearance, and especially her voice.

It was the investigative acumen that made Mercedes discover Artie's secret. She thought it was incredible that her colleague apparently in a wheelchair could fly. Around the same time, she discovered Santana's secret, when she caught her colleague lifting a piece of furniture in her dormitory as if it was made with Styrofoam. Getting to the others super freaks wasn't so difficult from this point on, but instead of bringing them to light, Mercedes found it exciting to be able to assist in the investigations as a valuable member who didn't necessarily have to wear a costume.

Of course, being close friends with Santana and Artie had some advantages. Mercedes already had the pleasure of doing a little flight with her friend and it was her roommate who carried all the heavy stuffs for her. Like the time when Mercedes asked to put her suitcase full of files and trinkets on top of the closet. That bag should weigh a hundred pounds with all the things inside, but Santana lifted it up as if it was nothing and put it in the right place.

Well, Mercedes would like to trust David enough to be able to talk about the hidden part of her daily life. But she vowed never to reveal to anyone and under no circumstances about the group. They all swore, though Santana had relatively circumvented that standard by trusting Rachel. What could she do? The Boss should have erased the memories of the annoying diva, but something happened to Rachel to resist and remember. Santana, on the other hand, preferred to keep such information to herself.

"Can I attend your rehearsal today?" David asked as they wrapped their arms around the classes.

"Of course you can. I would love it!"

Mercedes's cell phone rang. She smiled at her boyfriend and walked away three steps to answer.

"Yes?"

" _Mercedes, there is a different movement in the police about us these days. Did you hear about it?_ "

"Yes, I did." She looked at her boyfriend and stepped back a few more steps. "Can you talk that about it later?"

The line fell.

"Who was it?" David was curious about his girlfriend's different reaction to the call.

"A source for the story I'm writing about that incident I had with Angelina" She didn't lied. What she investigated was related to what happened. "But the call dropped." She put his arm around her boyfriend's waist and he did the same.

She entered the class, sat in her chair. Instead of paying attention to what the professor was saying, Mercedes scribbled in the notebook the names of some contacts who could tell about the suspicious handling of the police.

…

On the far side of town, Quinn had some tasks to do. She took advantage of the little movement of the bookstore to clean up the booth of books on sale, took out the powder and then served a customer who was looking for a good gluten-free cookbook. She smiled at the little stories of the reasons behind that search. In the case of the customer, her husband was forbidden by the doctor and he was still very angry with the news. But he wasn't upset because he couldn't eat bread, waffles, and normal pancakes. The problem is that beer had gluten.

Quinn indicated a book to another client who didn't know what to take for being one of those readers who buy more for the synopsis than for the genre or author. She then stared at Matt for a few more minutes. Unlike Rachel, he would just wave at Quinn and go straight to the coffee shop inside the bookstore. Quinn's racist co-worker always looked at Matt from the top down because of the times he'd been looking for his friend at work with his workman's boots, or sometimes he'd forgotten to take the safety fluorescent strip off. It was bizarre that a building black man would behave at the cafe like a gentleman. Matt's upbringing and the fact that he was very close to a woman like Quinn was annoying in a racist's eyes. Matt always ordered an espresso, a piece of pie, and read a free tabloid while he waited for Quinn to leave the file.

In the meantime, Rachel also went to the bookstore. This time it was only a friendly hello.

"I'm going out a little earlier today," Quinn smiled. "And my ride is already waiting for me."

Rachel looked in the direction pointed out by her friend and saw Matt sitting at the table. They both waved from a distance. The scene was rare, but not uncommon in Rachel's eyes since Matt and Quinn always went to rehearsals together.

"Do you have any idea who is the new actor Schuester is going to introduce?" Rachel had been trying to probe this information since the last rehearsal when Finn went ill again and ran out of patience.

"No, Rach," the young woman just nodded. "You know I don't know many people in this city other than work, the theater, and my neighbours. But if you want my opinion, I think Finn was great at recognizing that he wasn't rehearsing well. I thought it was even better when he didn't hand his part over to Puck."

"You don't really like Noah," Rachel speculated.

"I know well enough what kinds of him are interesting to have just as a friend." Quinn responded in that way because Rachel hinted at a few times so her friend could get a chance to get to know Puck better. Quinn was never interested and never liked this kind of game. She was even less fond of Puck for being harassed by him in the first rehearsals.

"I meant… he's not bad." Quinn sobered and shook her head. "True, he tries to go to bed with every girl he sees, but he's a good friend."

"Why don't you date him, if you like him so much?" The harsh tone caught Rachel by surprise. "I'm sorry, Rach. I just…"

"Well... how's Beth?"

"She's fine," Quinn always smiled when she talked about her daughter. "I'll pick her up at school as soon as I get out of here. In fact, she asks every day if you came to visit to leave her cookies."

"Good to know! In fact, I just remembered one thing" Rachel gave Quinn a package with four cookies.

"Please, there is a weekly sugar quota for my daughter. Don't overdraw."

Rachel nodded and waved at Matt once more. Quinn looked at her watch. She needed to hit the electronic point at the staff area. When she appeared again in the store with her dress, her cardigan, and her usual shoe, she made a point of going to Matt and gave him a peck to her colleague's disgust and total surprise.

"Let's go?" They both laced their fingers together and left after a quick wave of Quinn's.

They picked up Beth at school, and the three of them had a sandwich on the street, to the delight of the little girl. They left the little girl with a neighbour, Patricia's mother, and they went to visit this guy Matt told about. The one who could help Quinn how to handle the powers.

They went to a two-story house in a middle-class neighbourhood. It was a nice house, which reminded Quinn of her parents' house. There was a car in the garage, a tree just ahead, and a well-kept garden. Quinn took a deep breath and Matt took her girlfriend's icy hand.

"Will be all right."

She nodded and got out of the car. They didn't have to knock on the door. This was natural for Matt because he knew this doctor had a telepath and intuitive powers. Quinn was surprised. There she stood before a handsome man in her mid-40s, Latin features, strong body, huge tattoo on his arm.

"Matt!" He gave a hug to the old disciple.

"Martinez!" He turned to his friend. "This is Quinn Fabray, of whom I spoke to you."

"When Matt told me about you, he didn't mention the fact that you were so beautiful. Please come in."

Quinn came upon a breary-room with a set of handsome couch, many travel souvenirs and portraits of Martinez with a blonde woman who should have been the same age as him. There were also photos of a younger boy who resembled the woman.

"This is my wife, Holly," he pointed to the picture frames that caught Quinn's attention. "And the boy is my stepson."

"Oh." Quinn blushed. "You have a very beautiful family, Mr. Martinez."

"Thank you. Do you accept water? Maybe herbal tea?"

"I'm fine," Matt assured her.

"Thank you, Mr. Martinez," said Quinn, still uncomfortable and nervous.

"So..." He relaxed on the couch and crossed his legs. "What do I attribute to that good visit?"

Martinez knew the reason for the visit very well, but he believed Quinn needed to have the courage to explain her own situation. Because if she talks about it, she would be calmer and more confident. Quinn looked at her best friend (maybe new boyfriend) who gave her an encouraging nod.

"Matt's a special person," she began, staring at the fingers of her hands. "And when he showed me how much it also involved a different side of him... said that maybe I was ... like him. I don't know what I am, Mr. Martinez, anyway, he said that you helped him develop his powers and control it. And that maybe you could help me too... "

"Matt really is a special guy." Martinez gave her a confident smile. "When I met him, he was just a frightened boy with incredible power at hand. But let's not talk about your friend, Quinn. I can call you Quinn, right? Tell me about yourself. What makes you think you have powers too?"

"I don't know if it's something special or even if it's a gift. When I get nervous, my hands get cold. They're... really cold. Frosty. Not only my hands... my body..."

"When did this start happening?"

"At puberty. When I got pregnant, the cooling stopped, but after breastfeeding, it came back and it's still the same thing: I just need to be worry or stressed. Matt said I could control this and even do more, and that you are a great teacher."

"Can I take your hand, Quinn?" She hesitantly nodded and extended her hand to the older man. "I'd like you to close your eyes and not be alarmed at the voice you're going to hear inside your head. It's me talking to you. I'm a telepath. A limited one, but I can help you if I may."

Quinn stared at her, looking at her again for comfort. Matt encouraged her once more. She looked at Mr. Martinez and closed her eyes.

"Focus on my voice, Quinn." She opened her eyes, startled by the invasion. Her heart was racing, and suddenly her hand went cold. "Relax. I feel your power. It's acting, but you need to let your body be itself. Don't hold back." Quinn tried to relax. She tried to trust the comforting voice inside her head, despite the rather bizarre way it was. She would never have imagined that telepaths were real. "Keep it up. Let your body be."

Quinn took a deep breath and tried to relax as much as possible. She felt a surge of energy pass through her body and she found it pleasant. It was like a shock wave coming out of the top of her head, snoring through her body and out of her hands.

"Open your eyes, Quinn."

She obeyed and when she found herself, her hand was covered by a thin layer of ice, as if the humidity of the room had condensed there. And the most interesting fact was that Quinn could feel the cold, but it didn't affect her. On second thought, the cold never affected her. Once, when she was 13, she had to run out of the house to catch the stubborn dog that had escaped into the snow. Quinn took the animal and placed it in her lap. A woman walked past the house in that instant and was shocked to see the teenager wearing t-shirt and barefoot in the snow. The woman, who didn't even know her, scolded her about being exposed and young Quinn rushed into the house. Her body was icy, her feet almost frozen, but she didn't feel bad or even altered. On the contrary, it was comfortable. When she commented about that to her best friend at the time, the other girl looked at Quinn as she was a freak. Quinn shrank back.

"Sorry." Quinn made the movement of opening and closing her hands to break the thin layer of ice and warm them.

"Do not apologize, Quinn," Martinez smiled, though he was rubbing his hands to get his warm up again. "You have an extraordinary gift. However, you need to work on it not only for control but to understand how far you can go and thus discover its uses. The more you know about your gift, the better. "

"And can you really help me?"

"I can try. We can meet once or twice a week, maybe at the weekends. How's it going?"

"Would you be willing?" She widened her eyes.

"Of course! Matt and I still work on some things, you can come with him and then we set a day to work alone."

Quinn thought. She wanted to learn more, but being alone with Martinez wasn't such an attractive idea for someone who was naturally closed and suspicious.

"I don't know if it's possible twice a week. I have my daughter and asking people to be with her is not that simple. I also work on Saturday mornings and only play Sunday as a day off."

"Just bring her here. We have space in this house, she can play with the dog, play video-game. That won't be a problem, Quinn. Quite the opposite."

"I usually come here on Sunday mornings." Matt said.

"So maybe once a week I'll come along with Matt." Quinn conditioned. "That is, if it is not too much work for you."

"Of course!" Martinez agreed. "It will be my pleasure, Quinn. I hope to help you the same way I helped Matt. And believe me, he proved to be extraordinary. "

Quinn burst out of Martinez's house. Matt was the first person to accept her as she really was. And now she felt even better at being able to control and make use of the power she has. Quinn never, in her life, imagined she could freeze. She was also curious how much more she could do.

Martinez watched the new couple get out of the car and then went back to focusing on some priorities. While arranging a dinner to await the arrival of his wife, he picked up the cell phone and put it on the speakerphone.

"Mercedes. Any news on those investigations? "

"Hello boss. No news about Angelina yet. Police treat the case as a gang disagreement. But I think there is something else interesting: today I received the phone call from one of my sources that warned about a plan in progress to reverse the image of the vigilante. But my sources have not known what it is. Everything is being worked on at the top of the corporation with seven keys."

"Interesting." In those hours that Martinez lamented for being such a limited telepath. He could only project or read thoughts if he had visual contact with the person and manipulation became effective only when he touched it. He tried countless times to read thoughts of people he knew, but that was out of his sight. It wasn't possible. "Santana is disobeying my orders, correct?"

"I don't think it's just that, boss. I believe that the reaction of the police comes because of the cases in which she arrested the pedophiles and the rescue at Angelina's house. Police were heavily criticized for failing to administer a kidnapping situation for a community leader. The vigilante begun to have a better image, people see it as a solution. No wonder there's a containment plan."

"The plan should be part of the high-level police leadership. We need to be attentive and therefore reinforce the need to not go to the streets. Can you convey such a message to Santana?"

"Of course, boss. And I agree. "

"Okay, keep working, Mercedes."

The Boss hung up.

…

In the dormitory, Mercedes was getting ready to go to rehearsal. Santana was scribbled a notebook. Santana was designing some house design ideas she had. Asymmetrical, stylish and experimental designs. She liked to draw such things to relax a little.

"The boss talked to me today," Mercedes said, choosing a sweater.

"Is he worried about the cops coming after me?"

"Yes he is." She saw that Santana was relaxed painting the drawing. "You don't seem worried."

"I don't know what his problem is with that. Nothing I do connects his actions. If someone is caught, it will be me. And it's not like I'm going to reveal my extra strength to those idiot cops. The Boss is saved, you are all saved to do that same old sameness. Train, assess, train, and perform an action that the boss needs to do and that we never know exactly what the reason."

"So, you don't trust the Boss?"

"I don't know, Cedes. He says he's the good guy in history and we believe that. I acknowledge that it was very important for me to learn to control and develop my powers better. Training is the key. But as for the other things, I don't know. I didn't bother with his authoritarian manner until the day we rescued Angelina and you. It was as if he didn't want it somehow."

"You are paranoid. Of course he wanted to rescue us. He was angry because you followed a plan without waiting for him. You used the force when he could just walk into the house and convince the bad guys to surrender. That's it."

"Maybe." Santana looked at her backpack who kept her 'uniform'. She was tempted.

"You know you can't."

"I won't patrol. Not today."

"Not until the second order, San. I know you're impulsive, but you're not that irresponsible."

Soon Mercedes was tidy and the pair went downstairs to wait for Artie and David. They went to the rehearsal and were the last to arrive at the theater as usual. They found Rachel warming her voice. Quinn rummaging with Beth to keep her quiet, as well as the rest interacting here and there. Schuester called everyone on stage to introduce a relatively attractive young man with thick eyebrows and braces. Santana scratched her tongue so as not to comment on something nefarious.

"Guys, I talked to Finn and we got a consensus on the adjustments."

"The truth is I'm suck playing this character," Finn said. "So Schuester and I rewrote some parts together to include a new character for me, while the new protagonist's slot is open. I met Blaine at the school where I work. He's the brother of an athlete on my team and he has a great voice. He agreed to come here and audition in front of the group. And I'm sure he can dance better than me."

"That's fact, because you look like a stranded orca floundering when it dances."

"Santana!" Rachel caught her attention and only giggled in response.

"But is that already settled?" Puck said and Finn nodded.

"How could you not tell me anything?" Rachel felt betrayed because her boyfriend and Schuester had completely ruled her out of that decision. They should be a team, correct: her, Finn, Schuester and Emma. Then with Tina and Puck.

"I guess this is not the time to argue... maybe we should listen to Blaine" Finn said awkwardly and with a humility he didn't even know he had.

The cast settled on the armchairs, except for Quinn, who stood to pass a scene with the new boy. The consensus was that Blaine did better than expected. In fact, he was a talent. Finn was the first in that group to identify the boy's abilities. He saw him singing at the school's music club and was positively impressed. In addition, Blaine had the right profile for the character: he was young, could have used naiveté to the service, could work simple choreographies with ease and sang well. The purpose was to get the rest of the cast into accepting the extra element that would be part of the rehearsals rather late. Blaine concentrated the music began and he intoned.

" _Sobre a cabeça os aviões/ Sob os meus pés os caminhões/ aponta contra os chapadões meu nariz/ Eu organizo o movimento/ eu oriento o carnaval/ eu inauguro um monumento no planalto central do país/ viva a bossa,sa,sa, viva a palhoça, ça, ça, ça, ça..._ " (1)

It was the first time since the rehearsals began that the cast heard the song being played correctly. Even at the moment tongue-latching the song got pretty fluid with the new kid. It gained applause at the end and acceptance.

After the presentation of the extra, which became less dramatic than previously thought, except for Rachel Berry, who was really hurt, the actors rehearsed and marked the scene in which the piece gained a little more colour, as Mercedes insisted on saying. In her vision, Tropicalia was too white and needed that swing.

She wasn't a very good actress herself, but as she walked to the stage to face the imaginary audience, she showed the power of the voice.

" _Já virei calçada maltratada/ e na virada quase nada/ me restou a curtição/ Já rodei o mundo quase muda/ no entanto num segundo/ esse chamado veio a mão/ já senti saudade/ já fiz muita coisa errada/ já pedi ajuda/ já dormi na rua/ mas lutando atingi o bom senso/ lutando atingi o bom senso/ a imunização racional._ " (2)

It was a wonderful interpretation. That was what she was talking about when it came to Rachel Berry and the fact that she could sing better, even when she denied to herself that Rachel, in addition to the director's physical preference (white, small and quarrelsome), was a better actress. She just was not better than Quinn, who was not a protagonist because she could not compete in the corner. And in a musical, having a good voice is fundamental.

At the end of the rehearsals, while everyone took their belongings to leave. Rachel approached Santana discreetly.

"You're wearing the earrings I gave you." Santana had her back to Rachel and couldn't see the discreet smile on her face.

"They're pretty earrings." She turned and looked indifferent.

"Are you... doing that business today?"

"No. Even someone like me needs some rest."

"Rachel?" Finn came and interrupted the dialogue. "Can we go?"

"It depends. Did you discuss anything else with the director and keep me a secret?" She folded her arms and turned to her boyfriend while Santana seized the opportunity to walk away.

…

…

(1) Tropicália, by Caetano Veloso

See chapter 1

(2) Bom Censo, by Tim Maia

"I've already come on the wrong side of the road / and at the turn of the road almost nothing / I've left the tantrum / I've been around the world almost change / yet in a second / this call came hand / I already missed / I already did a lot wrong / already asked for help / already I slept in the street / but struggling I reached common sense / fighting I reached common sense / rational immunization. "

Tim Maia was the crazy guy. He's the biggest name in Brazilian black music and his story is incredible. He began his career in a band with two of the greatest Brazilian artists (Roberto e Erasmo Carlos), went to the United States, became a drug dealer, was deported, and when he returned to Brasil in the early 1970s, he released an amazing album. He was an ultimate junkie until he met a religious sect (seriously, a sect), which left him clean. Tim released two albums doing propaganda of this sect. This Tim Maia's years was known as "rational phase". Despite brainwashing, Tim Maia and his band never played and sang so well, and made their best work ever! Until Tim Maya found out that the chief of the sect took his money to buy real states in Rio de Janeiro. Tim left the sect, return to his junkie life and released dance records. Tim Maia was irresponsible as hell and missed his own concerts. It was a lottery to buy a ticket from his show because you never knew if he would show up. Tim Maia died in 1998 as a result of morbid obesity.

Search Youtube: Tim Maia Bom Censo


	10. A body on the sidewalk

"There's no way to stop the news," Mercedes said. "It's over. The whole town will know."

The journalist was exhausted. It was night, the group was all gathered where they called headquarters. Nothing beyond the hall that looked more like a boxing training academy near the industrial area of the city. Place maintained by the Boss, who owned it, but rented to his brother: this one gave martial arts and boxing classes.

The meeting was called on an emergency basis by Matt. It was unusual for the carpenter to have taken such an attitude. Just the one who had no pre-disposition to lead. However, the condition of witness forced him to act. He planned to spend a night of television and snacks with Quinn and Beth. Nothing more banal. On the way to the market, he saw the movement of policemen isolating part of the avenue. Some people say they saw the vigilante killing a boy. Matt tried to get close, clear his way, until he reached the edge of the tape that limited the action of the police and the curious. There was a body lined with plastic on the pavement floor, the cops made notes with witnesses, and when one of them was dismissed, he approached and asked what had happened. The man in his 40s said he saw a masked guy killing cold-blooded a boy and then run into the alley. He accused the vigilante and apparently the police bought the idea without reservations. It was all it wanted.

"I had absolutely nothing to do with it." Santana was restless, pacing up and down. "They killed an innocent and put the blame on me? That's disgusting!"

"They don't know that the watchman is you, Santana!" Grant pondered.

"Still, it's me who's acting in this town and trying to do something... unlike you assholes."

"But you're the one who's paying attention to our group!" Matt accused.

"What? You wear the mask once a month to do some random operation."

"What are we going to do?" Even Brittany, who was always quiet and uninvolved, was confused and sad.

" _Keep your cool_ " the Boss responded as usual to telepathy when proximity allowed him. " _In fact, it's time for you to stop, Santana. the problem is not you wear a mask and do nonsense around town at your own risk. The point is that you are starting to mess up the work done here. For this team. I didn't get you guys to be vigilante celebrities. I have gathered you so that you have an opportunity to do something good with your powers._ "

"You're finally getting it all screwed up, Lopez!" Matt raged. "I always knew you would do this group badly by the time you set foot here."

"Fuck you, Matt."

There was a beginning of confusion, but Grant used his rationality to calm the moods.

"I insist that we should breathe and try to think of the general picture, which is something we are not visualizing. There is something else in this story, there are other motivations. The police wouldn't kill anyone just because it hates the vigilante. Scandal benefits somebody, a big fish maybe. I can't say who or why at this very moment, but that's what we need to find out." Grant walked over to Santana and touched her colleague's shoulder to calm her. "Commissar elections are close. You could do some research on the three candidates and check if any of them have problems with the vigilante or even if the police are involved. Mercedes can do her thing, and Artie. I can help too."

"What about the rest of us?" Santana asked.

" _You are crazy? You are going to do absolutely nothing. This is just a case of a gang fight with a brat wearing a mask. The media will use this politically. But on top of that, the remedy is for you to stop that shit._ " The boss raged at Santana. " _Either you respect that ultimatum or you're out for good._ "

"Disappear like this will seem an admission of guilt" Santana folded her arms. "I need to clean my name."

" _The vigilante doesn't have a name._ " The Boss said then directed his telepathy exclusively into Santana's mind. " _Stop by yourself or I will make you._ "

Santana resigned herself to the Boss's will. Just like everyone else. It was past midnight and the group was mentally exhausted.

" _Grant, Brittany and Artie. I need you here with me. For the rest, wait for my call. Get out of here like good civilians and don't panic about what people might say on the streets._ "

There was nothing more that the others could do but obey the Boss. Matt had to work, Mercedes had classes, though she would consider jumping the first one to sleep some more. Santana wasn't tired, just frustrated. She wanted to wear the uniform and put her hands on the bastard who wore a mask to kill a boy. Just a 15 years old teenager in a way that made it appear pure and simple extermination. This was disgusting and too cruel in the vigilante's eyesight. She had to have something to drink, maybe a beer. It was late. Mercedes could barely keep her eyes open. She decided to do the right thing and take her friend back to the dormitory.

Once in the room and after helping the journalist going to bed, Santana wanted to walk a little bit. She felt immense desire to put on her jacket and mask. She was proud of the uniform she used to do good things, according to her own judgment. On the other hand, the Boss was right: it was neither time nor moment. Santana took off her clothes, put on her "pyjamas," and began to drawn some sketches until you get tired and close your eyes.

…

In the morning, Finn knocked on the door of his girlfriend's and Kurt's apartment. Nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn't uncommon for the mechanic to make the meal before taking Rachel to community college. Different was the news he heard on the radio about the scandalous murder of a 15-year-old teenager and the arrest warrant for the masked vigilante, the main suspect of the crime. On the one hand, he thought it stupid to issue a prison sentence to someone who wears a regular mask. It could be anyone, including a common thief. On the other hand, any bad news about that was good in his conception, even if it sounded strange and unfair.

After greeting his stepbrother and kissing his girlfriend, Finn sat down at the table to eat bread with jelly and some warm milk.

"Did you hear the news?"

"What?" Kurt asked disinterestedly.

"The masked vigilante murdered a 15-year-old teenager who stole a beer can from a convenience store. It was cold-blooded. There are some witnesses and everything" He said, paying close attention to his girlfriend.

"What?" Rachel jumped up from the chair, a reaction anticipated by Finn. "It's not possible. He would never do that." The boyfriend narrowed his eyes. Even in the shock, she seemed very sure of what she was saying. "This can only be a lie. A frame."

"How do you know?" Finn confronted. "All we know about this guy is that he has a habit of tying people to poles and accusing them."

"Sometimes you talk like you know him, Rach," Kurt mused.

"He saved me," Rachel said, "and I don't know him any more than you do. Probably a lot less than Finn who is the only one at this table who had the opportunity to have a proper conversation with punches and kicks."

"What?" Kurt frowned. Apparently the couple left him out.

"Didn't you tell your brother, Finn? That you tried to do it with your own hands and, thank God, was prevented by the vigilante?"

"I wonder where your loyalty lays, Rach?" Finn complained.

"On the side of who acts correctly. And it wasn't you at this time."

"And what do you say about your dear vigilante now?"

"I'm sure it's a mistake... or a frame."

"The point, Rach, is that this avenger has disproportionately violent attitudes. If he killed a kid now, I can't be surprised" Finn argued just to piss off Rachel. Of course, deep down, he knew there was something wrong in this story, but he just wanted to disagree with his girlfriend.

"Guys, for God's sake. This can only be a frame or a misunderstanding. He would never do that" Rachel insisted.

"You just see the best of people" Kurt tried to soften. "I love it in you, but I worry too."

"I'm not naïve, Kurt."

"Maybe..." Kurt finished his coffee. "We should change the subject so we won't ruin our morning."

Rachel nodded in silence, but only because she was not willing to fight even more with her boyfriend, least of all with her best friend. After finishing dressing, he went down with Finn for another day at community college. She turned on the radio, pulled out the news station, and searched for some music she likes.

" _Eu quis ter os pés no chão/ tanto que abri mão/ que hoje eu entendi/ sonho não se dá/ é botão de flor/ o sabor de fel/ é de cortar/ Eu sei é um doce te amar o amargo é querer-te pra mim/ O que eu preciso é lembrar, me ver/ Antes de te ter e de ser teu, muito bem._ " (1)

"Los Hermanos?" Finn complained. "You know I hate these guys. They are tucked in and make music with too many words that nobody understands. Change station."

"I like it," Rachel challenged.

"You don't even understand what they say, this singer sings like a drunk guy and the music seems to be all mismatched, out of tune. Too much hipster."

"The music speaks of two people who like each other, maybe love each other, but aren't prepared to be together. One of them understands that being alone has its advantages but needs the other to be complete."

"Really?" Finn gave a half smile.

"That's how I interpret it. But understanding a song is often a subjective process. Like Tropicalia" Rachel pinned Finn because he had so much trouble with the song that he forced Schuester to rework the piece to include another member.

"This is stupid music. This and that Alegria Alegria" referred to another song of the play that he had problems to sing and, therefore, the new boy, Blaine, would assume it.

"Alegria, Alegria is about someone reading a magazine called O Sol. It's simply the description of the magazine wrapped in some youthful dreams."

"O Sol?"

"It is a magazine that existed and was considered innovative at the time, but was closed because it was considered equally subversive."

"Oh really?"

" _Quem lê tanta notícia?_ " (2) Rachel hummed.

Ironically, in ten minutes she would have been eager for news. Rachel didn't want to do this in front of her boyfriend so as not to feed discussions, but at the first opportunity she took advantage of college wifi to access the city's main news site. There was a big headline on the home page: "Masked Vigilante is a Killer?". Rachel rolled her eyes. Nothing more sensationalist, and she didn't need to take a class on communication to understand the processes of the bad press.

 _"Gale Black, 15, was killed on Wednesday night at around 10 pm. The young man was spotted stealing a can of beer at the Brooks Avenue convenience store and was reportedly approached by the local masked vigilante, who attacked him with a baseball bat. Black was hit by blows to the head and ribs. According to reports, Black had broken ribs and head trauma, in addition to internal bleeding. "The injuries were too severe for him to withstand without medical help," said Orlando Collins, the coroner who accompanied the case. Black's parents went to the legal medical institute to identify the body at dawn and left very shaken. His mother, Silvia Black, was hospitalized and sedated._

 _The detective Carl Burkle, who follows the case and the actions of the masked vigilante, lamented the death of Gale Black. "This is what happens when someone untrained and certainly with serious problems, decides to wear a mask and do justice with their own hands," he reiterated. "We will do everything in our power to investigate and find out who is behind the mask and make him pay for his deeds, which now also involves a homicide." Burkle also stressed the need for the population to work together with the police. "If you see the movements of this justiceist, denounce."_

 _The mayor didn't want to speak personally about the case, but sent a note, through the advisory, that they are watching the case closely and will do everything possible to assist the police work. John Rosenberg, police commissioner candidate and chief critic of Carl Burkle accused police of being patronizing the vigilante. "Now that a real tragedy has happened is that they are taking it seriously. The police are slow and would say even lazy. It needs to be changed urgently". Prosecutor Johnatan Scott choruses Rosenberg and said by way of note that slowness has led to the appearance of vigilantes who intend to make the law of the city and reiterated that society can not be held hostage._

 _Flowers_

 _From early on there were many manifestations of the population. Flowers and candles were placed where they found Gale Black's body. "He may have made a bob mistake," said housewife Janet Gaff, "Who ever made foolish mistakes? That does not mean that the boy was a thug ... "_

Rachel stopped reading around. She paid attention to small details, such as the use of a bat, which made her relieved. Not because of the cruelty of the boy's murder, but because she knew Santana didn't use such instruments. She knew, however, that she couldn't lay her hand on the fire by anyone. She to call Santana once, twice, three times. Nothing. She resigned. She heard comments from some colleagues about the incident and was annoyed that she didn't find any voices to defend the vigilante.

It was a consensus that seemed to have taken care of the city, although she didn't know what the rest of the people thought, and if there was anyone capable of defending the action of this vigilante, it was silent. Rachel was silent, afraid to express herself differently from the majority and be accused as well. What an uncomfortable feeling, so much that it made her airy and fearful throughout her favourite class.

…

The others 'vigilantes' themselves were also in an awkward position. Artie was in a small parlour of the Grant's apartment. He had awakened from a quick nap and stretched. If it was his will, he would rise from that chair and stretch out. Maybe she'd relax on a long flight. It was unbelievable to feel anything but the wind circling her body and to think for a second that her legs weren't dead.

"You should wash your face." Grant put a glass of water in front of his friend.

"I can not think anymore," Artie grunted.

"Half an hour and I took you to your house."

"I should be working today."

"If you don't sleep properly, no chances. I say the same to myself."

"Any luck after I fainted from sleep?"

"Nothing but assumptions. My power is calculates movements, not words." Grant lamented. "Anyway, from what you can talk to my sources, Carl Burkle's plans to disrupt the vigilante for a good police image didn't involve a murder."

"The Boss..."

"The Boss doesn't need to know anything." Grant rubbed his face. "Let's go? I'm sure we'll work better if we're breathing fresh air."

They went to the garage and Grant helped Artie with the chair. The boss told them to be quiet, but Grant had this irresistible will to investigate. A compulsion comparable only to Santana's in patrolling.

In the meantime, Mercedes was wide awake and willing to get as much information as possible from the sources now that the day had dawned and the afternoon was near. Between phone calls and a notebook full of notes, she couldn't find a clue she could identify. At least none of what was said by the sources differed from what was published by the press throughout the day. She herself had to go to the police station to make some calculations and write her own text for the university newspaper. Mercedes looked at her address book and saw the telephone number of Rick Bangs, who was a narcotics officer. She decided to risk it, after all, she was inside that environment.

" _Bangs talking,_ " she heard the thick voice on the other end of the phone.

"Hello Bangs, this is Mercedes Jones from Elm Square News."

" _Hi girl, what's up?_ "

"I'm covering the case of the vigilante this morning and wanted to know if you have any news about it?" She closed her eyes and twisted.

" _I wish I had, girl. I'm out of the investigations. The chief elected the case as a priority, not because of the crime itself, but apparently the mayor gave an ultimatum. Anyway, the police can not just do it and I'm out of this group._ "

"Does the vigilante bother the mayor so much?"

" _Not the vigilante itself, girl. The media does. It's election time._ "

"That's true."

" _Can I tell you something off? I've always trusted you, Jones._ "

"Of course. I've never betrayed your confidence and it won't be now that I'm going to do it."

" _The kid who was murdered was an Angelina's minion._ "

"Do you believe this could have any connection?"

" _I can't tell you, Jones. Angelina deals with this type of boy, right? It may just be one that decided to do a trick and paid an exaggerated price. Honestly, I don't know._ "

Mercedes thanked the agent for the news and searched the contact notebook for the telephone number of Angelina, the community leader who played a series of activities aimed at keeping young people from the periphery from a marginal life. She called and had no answer.

The group was trying to make progress, but Matt was out of action at least that day. He finished the construction work and got the car back home. He was exhausted. He thought about turning off the phone and the world too. He picked up a bottle of rum from the kitchen cupboard and poured a serving. He took off his shoes, poured himself a second dose and threw himself on the sofa in the small living room. She thought of Quinn. It was the kind of situation where he would like a hug and a warm body, but he wouldn't look for her that way. Not at the beginning of a possible relationship. The phone rang. Speaking of the devil...

"It's comforting to hear your voice." Matt said. Quinn couldn't help but smile.

" _I called to check if you're okay. You seemed very depressed this morning._ "

"Now I am."

" _Problems at work?_ "

"No, the work is fine."

" _Are you sure? Do not you want me to go down to your apartment?_ "

"It's tempting, but not now. I was going to have a shower. I still have powder in my hair."

" _OK. I'm going to help Beth on a school assignment. I'm home if you need to._ "

After he hung up the phone, he sipped some more of the rum. He looked at the belt of his pants and opened it. Then he lowered the zipper. Matt needed to relax. He thought of Quinn and touched himself as he had done countless other times. He imagined how beautiful it would be the day he and Quinn made love for the first time. The more his imagination progressed, the faster his hand moved.

…

Santana was also frustrated that she didn't have the Boss's approval in the investigations. She could talk to some people too, look for clues. She studied architecture and understood shadows and angles. This was how she could move so quickly at night without attention. Couldn't she have used the same ability to investigate? It wasn't like the boss thought. She was annoyed at the thought of the Boss who had taught her to control her strength and urges. Her relationship with him was a combination of loyalty and a desire to act independently. As a telepath, the Boss was likely to know this, and hence the reason not to trust her. Santana had a shower, tried to study. She failed. No one was giving her any news. Matt wasn't answering the phone. Nor Grant. Not even Artie.

Call Brittany? It was tempting, but her colleague couldn't tell her about the investigations. It was one of the things she loved and hated in Brittany. The airy way and the inability to think coherently about a discussion. She would be able to describe everything they did, like a movie camera, but she hardly ever gave a note about what really mattered. On the other hand, Brittany had good reading of people. Santana found her sexy, beautiful, appreciated the sculptural body and admired her ability to dance, but never had a chance. Partly because her colleague had no attraction or even curiosity about staying with another girl. Partly because Brittany didn't forget the rude approach Santana made shortly after they met.

Santana remembered what Brittany had said in the last time they had a conversation: "You try too hard to be a bitch, a womanizer. I don't understand, San. You are a good and incredible person. No matter how much you deny, you care about people more than you imagine. But I don't understand why you have to try so hard to be seen as a bitch. You don't need to offend anyone to be a badass. You know... one day you will fall for real for someone and you will learn…"

Santana mumbled. It was true and therefore irritating. Santana put on a 'suit' and left. Walking through the streets without the vigilante's attention was different. She had the impression she was being careless. Frustrated, she passed a sandwich shop order some juice and a sandwich. She realized that she was close to the restaurant where Rachel worked. When she saw the girl in question rushed forward, Santana wanted to go with her, but she was reluctant. If she couldn't act as a vigilante, she could at least work on protecting someone. With an established purpose, she returned to concentrate on her own things.

"Hi." Rachel was surprised by an almost sad voice next to her. She didn't know what to do, if she hugged her and thanked the heavens for the company or hit Santana.

"I heard the news," Rachel told Santana. She noticed the jacket, even if open, her jeans, her sneakers, her backpack. It was cold, but those were vigilante's clothes. Rachel was worried "What happened to that boy?"

"I have nothing to do with that." Santana reached into her jacket pockets. "I would never kill somebody on purpose."

"Were you patrolling?"

"Yesterday I was studying at the library!" Santana said urgently. "I had a test this morning that I must have gone very bad because of the stress. I believe it was a crime in which the police seized the opportunity to arraign against the vigilante."

"That's what I thought." Rachel put her arm around her friend's shoulders. The gesture surprised Santana who felt strange and even uncomfortable, but did nothing to get Rachel away. "I've seen many people who don't believe in you. But I never doubted."

"Thank you." Santana gave a small smile that immediately suffered. Rachel withdrew her arm from her friend's shoulders, and they walked a few more feet in silence.

"Are you going to patrol the streets after you leave me at home?"

"I'm not patrolling today."

"But what about this uniform?"

"It's cold."

"Don't you have other warm clothes."

Santana sighed. At least Rachel wasn't the boss.

"It's just a guarantee. If I see anything on the way."

"You shouldn't take that much risk. Not when the police department is crazy to get someone in a mask."

"I won't patrol."

"Just be careful. I'd hate to see you in trouble."

Silence.

"Thank you for the part that touches me." Santana gave a small smile.

Silence.

"We'll think of a way" Rachel said seriously.

"We?"

"I want to help you."

"That's sweet of you, but I don't think..."

"Why not?" Rachel anticipated. "Because I'm not strong like you or because I don't have another type of superpower?"

"You talk too much."

"That's not it..." Rachel closed her expression. "I can talk too much, fight too much, want too many things that I can't have at the moment, but if there's something I can do, Santana Lopez, it's keeping a secret. Especially those I really care about."

Santana walked more slowly trying to resolve her internal conflict. She actually trusted Rachel enough to talk to her about her double identity. That was fact and it was something that made her feel good. But then actually engaging her was another story. And she wanted more than anything to keep her colleague safe. She still didn't understand the reason for such feeling and was afraid to investigate it.

"I don't want to get you involved," Santana said softly.

"Too late," Rachel said harshly. "I'm already involved. With you, at least."

"Actually, walking with you today wasn't a good idea." Santana tried to divert the path and disappear, but she felt Rachel's hand holding her arm.

"For someone who faces armed thugs, you're too much of a coward."

"Shut up!"

Rachel couldn't tell what led to this impulse. But when she did, her lips touched Santana's. The vigilante, for her part, didn't know why, but instead of moving away, she raised her hand to her friend's face and deep the kiss. Their hearts were racing, there was a strange feeling in their stomach. The kiss didn't last much long, but it was sweet. It was Santana who broke the contact, but not abruptly. She looked at Rachel's face, still with her eyes closed, and resisted the temptation to kiss her again. It had been a long time since Santana had felt such a connection with anyone. Since her first girlfriend, and it had happened so long ago that Santana thought she had forgotten what it was like to be truly attracted to someone.

Santana had experienced disappointment and trauma involving her first girlfriend. It was such a reason that she had decided not to get involved with anyone else, that it might be better to be a womanizer. Even with Jenny, with whom she had a long relationship, Santana never tried to invest emotionally in the courtship. But there was Rachel: the girl with whom Santana never cared about until save her. It was possible that this liking was illusory, like one of those syndromes that make nurses marry patients.

Fate seemed too cruel for make her falling for the annoying girl who had a long relationship with the guy Santana hated even more.

Santana wasn't the only one confused. Rachel loved Finn and never doubted that feeling. She never questioned it. She knew with all her heart who her person was, the soul mate, the one. So why this attraction for Santana Lopez? Rachel couldn't explain. Apart from her genuine desire to help Santana in the work of protecting the city, there was another one in which she felt different and seduced.

"I think we should go." Santana was uncomfortable. "Your place is in the next block, right?"

"Of course." Rachel decided try ignore what just had happened. "So... see you tomorrow at the theater?"

Santana nodded and turned her back to Rachel. She didn't want her colleague to realize how much she was in conflict.

…

…

(1) Condicional, by Rodrigo Amarante

"I wanted to have my feet on the ground / so much that I opened my hand / that today I understood / dream is not given / is flower bud / the flavor of fel / is to cut / I know it's sweet to love you/ bitter is what I need you to remember, to see me / Before I have you and to be yours, very well."

I agree with Finn Hudson. I don't like Los Hermanos. This is a 2000s band that had messianic aurea. They were the last pretentious hipsters, challengers of the system. The shows had this almost religious cult vibe. Go to hell, bro! But Los Hermanos, for better or for worse, was so far the most influential band of this century in Brazil. Even after the end, the aesthetic created by them runs through several new 'rock' bands. In general, groups that born in the universities (in human studies). The guitarists Marcelo Camelo and Rodrigo Amarante were Los Hermanos' leaders and main composers. They also took turns as vocalists. I recognize that they did very good, beautiful songs, but their attitude and speeches were a turn off.

Search Youtube: Los Hermanos Condicional

(2) Alegria, Alegria, by Caetano Veloso

" _Who reads so much News?_ "

Perhaps this is the verse of a song by Caetano most quoted in academic papers in Brazil. "Who reads so much news?" The dialogue between Rachel and Finn explains this song a little bit. It was actually talking about a magazine called o Sol (The Sun), which made major aesthetic and editorial innovations in the 1960s. Such innovations influenced other publications. O Sol only had three editions and was closed by force of the military dictatorship. But it left its mark on the world. The music is also about freedom and resistance.

Search Youtube: Caetano Veloso Alegria (Preferably the album version)


	11. Falling

" _Short essay on masks_

 _By Mercedes Jones_

 _Our society is still in shock at the brutal death of Gale Black, who was murdered at age 15 after stealing a beer can from a convenience store. According to witnesses, the young man was approached still near the commercial establishment, still under the sound of Rick Charleson's protests, the cashier, by a man wearing a black cloth mask. Gale didn't stand a chance when he was surprised not by a rant, but with a wooden baseball bat on his head. One hit so violent that it would crack his skull and cause the serious trauma, cause of the adolescent death. The gratuity of the event shocked us and made us feel close to the Black family. Gale Black isn't just a statistical number about the violence of the city. He became so close that we wept and mourning._

 _The murder weapon was left in place. No evidence has yet been found identifying the criminal, but the city police have issued an arrest warrant and treat the masked author as a police fugitive. Although our authorities work hard to clarify this and other cases and point to a culprit, the question I ask here is who is to blame? Logically there is an author, but it has been inserted within an established masquerading entity. A common home burglar can wear a black mask. Just like a car thief, a protest militant, a hooligan, and even the one who picks up small criminals and ties them to poles to take over. All these, regardless of who, no matter the motives, are outlaws._

 _The question is, are we all a bit outlaw too? For we wear invisible masks at all times to suit us in social falsehoods and hide ourselves in conversions. Our invisible masks are meant to be used in our total convenience. In the security of our public anonymity, we point, manipulate, and judge certain of our high morality. After all, we show our faces, even if our real intentions are hidden._

 _But ironically, the ones who wear the mask that reveal the transparency of their characters. I speak of the ones who steals, who kills and who also saves. The news of the last months leads us to believe that there are yes these three species of masked ones. One must be careful not to put in the same pot who tries to collaborate with justice and who uses of such artifice to give vent to all the flaws of character and to their obscene goals._

 _Two weeks ago, me and my colleague went through a peculiar experience. When interviewing social activist Angelina McCullen in order to make an article for this newspaper, we were surprised by three masked gang members. Yes, masked. The neighbourhood noticed the strange movement and suddenly we were in the midst of a gang fight, one of which was meant to silence a life. Fortunately, the masked invaders were frightened by the number of people in the house and with the certain quickness of the neighbourhood that prevented a massacre from involving even a nine-year-old child. For about two hours, we lived the terror of apprehension while the gangs were talking and the police accompanied everything at a safe distance. I came to think that the impasse would lead to our end. Yes, I feared for my life and the lives of my companions. Ironically, it was a masked vigilante that solved the stalemate and saved us all. He entered the house, knocked out members of the gang and set us free. Police found out that three of those gang members were sought for violating their conditional._

 _You see, everyone wore masks: three to kill, one to save. The person who saved us, whoever it is, knows that I will be eternally grateful._

 _I don't defend criminals. I repudiate it as every citizen responsible and with some sense of decency. The criminal who killed Gale must be caught. But the danger of generalization is present. The population deposits hate on someone who has become an entity. Behind this mask may be an innocent who can pay for the acts of others. Investigate evidence at hand: clothing, shoes, approximate height and weight, etc. There is a security camera record, after all. Get this guy. But don't start a bloody crusade upon a guess._ "

Mercedes finished reading under the applause of the cast. Some enthusiastic. Artie, for example, cheered her best friend by the article and initiative. It was what Mercedes could do to publicly assist the vigilantes: writing. Others applauded for education. Finn and Kurt were in this group for dislike of the figure of the vigilante, in spite of the rescue of Rachel. Puck was another, but because he had no opinion about it, and the same was true for Quinn. She still didn't realize that her boyfriend was part of a group of gifted people and the vigilante is the girl sitting next to her. Quinn never sought to know Santana better, not even Artie and Mercedes. She thought the architecture student was arrogant and pretentious, but Quinn respected her. Santana has always shown character.

"Mercedes, why did you decide to write this article?" Schuester sometimes liked to do short interviews with the actors. It was a way to show interest and value them.

"The news of the vigilante's pursuit bothered me. I was saved by this person and I don't believe that the same one who took such care in my rescue was capable of gratuitous and misguided violence. It simply is not part of the pattern. I don't want to impose my opinion on any of you, but I want to provoke reflection."

"Okay," Schuester drew new applause. "Guys, now let's focus on building the unit of the play. No more rehearsing of scenes, let's start the pieces together. In your positions."

It was a relief for Santana the starting of the final phase of rehearsals. She couldn't stand the exhaustive markings and repetitions of the same scene. There were days when she or others even rehearsed because they were stuck at one point. At least on such occasions Emma would spare the group to avoid boredom. Still, they did only one trial with the overall move. Santana was only in the play because she was a woman of the word who fulfilled the commitments. But she swore that this would be the first and last time she would venture into the theater. The only thing he really liked to do was sing. In those moments, time passed quickly in Santana's eyes.

The intervals were always slow, however. It was when Finn and Rachel exchanged little strokes, like hugs, fingers intertwined, kisses. Just normal behaviour of a couple in public. Nothing more. But, for Santana, everything went bigger. The seal was seen as a wet kiss. The hug was always too long and she wanted to dissolve the glue that made their hands stick. She didn't want to admit to herself that she was jealous of what she felt, much less that she was falling for Rachel Berry. It would be the end. Finn Hudson? Who? Santana sighed. Finn was the guy Rachel had been relating to for a million years. The kiss Rachel and Santana exchanged two nights before? Never existed. At least that was how Rachel seemed to stare. She avoided even exchanging glances with the architecture student. Then she leaned closer to her boyfriend and tried to focus on her activities.

"Let's review it. It's one last time before it's over, okay?" Schuester clapped his hands to get the cast's attention. "Rachel, Santana and Mercedes. In your positions."

The scene consisted of the three sitting on stage floor reflecting on the previous events of the play. Then Rachel sighs and starts singing a capella.

" _Pois é/ fica o dito e o redito por não dito/ e é difícil dizer que foi bonito/ é inútil cantar o que perdi._ " (1)

Mercedes takes the second stanza.

" _Taí/ Nosso mais que perfeito está desfeito/ e o que me parecia tão direto/ caiu desse jeito sem perdão._ "

Santana was next. She stared at Rachel and sang beautifully.

" _Então/ Disfarçar minha dor eu não consigo/ dizer: somos sempre bons amigos/ é muita mentira para mim._ "

It wasn't the first time the trio passed the scene and rehearsed the song. But the relationship between two of the members has changed. The weather has changed, the chemistry has changed. The verses sung by Santana began to make sense in a particular way, despite the internal struggle within each one. Rachel's friendship? She's never had it before. But this came to exist and, unintentionally, evolved into something more. Not that they wanted to. Santana would have been happy never to talk civilly to Rachel, and Rachel wouldn't have cared to stay away from someone provocative like her cast partner. However, they were there, passing an emotional scene, intimate, two days after they exchanged an unexpected kiss. Rachel had a boyfriend who watched everything from the side of the stage. Santana had Jenny or whoever she will get laid with in the week.

Rachel continued the song.

" _Enfim/ hoje na solidão ainda custo/ a entender como o amor foi tão injusto/ pra quem só foi dedicação_."

The three of them closed the scene singing together.

" _Pois é..._ "

Their colleagues applauded. Why not when that's a great scene with the three strongest and most beautiful voices in the female cast? Rachel took advantage of the diva moment, went to the front of the stage and bowed. A gesture that irritated the other two for different reasons. Mercedes didn't believe how that girl could be so petulant. Santana was simply annoyed with herself, her friends, and Rachel Berry.

"Take two more steps, Berry. So you can throw yourself into the arms of the public. It would be quite a scene if you did it now because you are so moved by the moment."

"Would you like to come with me, Santana?"

"I'd rather have fun watching you flailing and dying."

"Girls!" Schuester shouted, trying to put an end to the brief discussion. "All three were fine, but I would like to correct some details, if I may."

There was another repetition to perfect the execution of the scene itself, such as intonation, gesticulation, and other little details that made a difference. Not that William Schuester was a demanding director and perfectionist. He was just a normal guy in a small town with big dreams. He also didn't have much to complain about since his talent was equal to where he was. If you were to think it over, that cast was also in good shape. What about the performance of a Mercedes Jones, Brittany Pierce or even Finn Hudson, who can not act? Puck, Matt and Mike were mediocre actors on their best days. Santana, Artie, Kurt and Blaine were good, but not for big shows. If Schuester and Emma bet on two names it would be Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray. The first had all the ambition of the world, but not the beauty that opened doors. The second had the correct beauty pattern, but no ambition to pursue such a career.

Santana wanted to be the first to leave the theater that night. She had no obligations other than study. Maybe she could take advantage of the vague agenda and visit Jenny. The senior college student could be a needy emotional annoying girl, but she was good in bed and very flexible. All Santana wanted was some casual and comfort sex to get Rachel off her mind.

Santana wanted to run and leave everyone behind, but she couldn't. Not when she had to hitchhike to Artie and Mercedes, who was arguing with the director. This made it possible to witness to the counter-taste the kiss exchanged by alfa couple in the parking lot.

"Why don't you go home and get into bed once and for all?" Santana spat the venom.

"That's what I intend to do" Finn said part to provoke Santana.

"Come on, Finn." Rachel grinned. "The sooner the better."

Rachel and Santana exchanged glances. Santana wanted to beat herself for not being able to hide her disgust. She grimaced at the couple and went back inside the theater to wait for Mercedes and Artie. Rachel wasn't happy about the situation either. All she wanted was to have a frank conversation with the vigilante, but Santana didn't answer the phone. This deeply irritated Rachel and was part of the reason she was using Finn to provoke the vigilante.

Finn drove with a half smile on his face. When Rachel demanded urgency, it was because the night promised to be good, that perhaps something more could happen under the sheets. This fought was more than satisfactory in the mechanic's view. The arrival to the studio apartment was between kisses and the door was even locked. His hands had free access to her body. It was so easy and so good when he could simply press his hand to her breasts, bite her neck and touch her sex without needing to be chivalrous. It was good when it was just dirty.

He took off his girlfriend's panties, lifted her skirt, and sat her down on the corner table. Rachel helped him to open the button of the pants and to lower the zipper. Already hard, Finn was inside.

"Stronger," she shouted and her boyfriend responded.

Before he came, Finn changed his mind. If the night was wild and dirty, then Rachel wouldn't mind turning over and bend. She put her hands on the wall and felt the penetration again from behind. Two, three, four strong thrusts and the matter was settled. Finn took a deep breath, withdrew, and kissed her girlfriend's neck before taking a few steps back and sitting on the bed.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine." Rachel smiled.

She felt so guilty about the kiss that she was willing to make her boyfriend happy. Rachel pulled out the rest of his clothes, doing a lazy dance. Then she knelt between his legs and bent over. She tried at all costs not to think of the vigilante as she pleased her boyfriend with a blow job.

…

In the dead of night, Finn and Rachel weren't the only couple to lie down and exchange intimate moments. Mercedes asked for the room to spend the night with David. It meant that Santana would have to ask to take the sleeping bag in Artie's dormitory. Either that or it was Jenny. Or she could put a smile on her face and slam the door of some previous conquest. But she wasn't in the mood anymore. Santana knew she shouldn't, that the times were dangerous, but doing it was good, giving her peace of mind. No one needed to know.

She picked up her pack as she left the dormitory, changed her clothes in the usual place, hid the backpack. There was the vigilante with the denim jacket, the wide pants, the brown sneakers, and the mask. How she felt comfortable with this casual uniform. She slipped a few seals in her pocket and went out into the streets in a circle through the shadows as it was a habit. The night wasn't particularly fascinating. Sometimes it was sad depending on where she was going. Sometimes she would watch from the top of a building girls and boys on the show who made their point on Aox Avenue, famous for its bars and nightclubs. She wouldn't bother them. Not with the drunken or drugged.

In a quick move, she stopped a guy who had been drinking too much from getting hit by a car. Santana left the scene so quickly that there was no time for anyone to scream because the murderous vigilante appeared. He walked down Brown Avenue. There were patrols there and Santana had no business with the police. She had to avoid them at all costs. He climbed into a building and decided to move over. She was a student of architecture and urbanism. She studied the whole region fiercely. She knew the characteristics of the buildings of the region, the standard distances, the resources, the ways.

It felt good to run, jump, and land. Run, jump and land. Because she was stronger and faster than usual, she jumped greater distances in which prudent people wouldn't risk in those conditions. Two blocks beyond the patrols, still from the top of the building, in an alley, she watched one man be dragged by two others while a third watched. That would be an execution if it weren't for the action of the masked vigilante. Santana didn't know the reasons why the man was dragged to die. She cared little for them now. She descended the building using the emergency stairs in an impressive movement and landed on top of one of the shooters. She was quick enough to attack the second. The vigilante grabbed the man's wrist, broke some bones, and dropped the gun to the floor. The third tried to run, but she caught up with him and knocked him out before he called the police or caught someone else's attention. The victim observed everything with wide eyes.

"T ... t ... thank you very much ..."

The man literally pissed himself and Santana without the mask would have made an acid remark. But the masked entity didn't speak unless it were absolutely necessary. Besides that, she recognized the man, but she couldn't remember his name. Santana remembered one of the missions the Boss ordered to protect officials who were alleged to be victims of the Mafia. That man was in the group. Santana pushed him and took the wallet in his pocket. She looked at the identity. Edward Hemon.

"What do you want?" Hemon asked.

"Who are these guys and why they want you dead?"

"The mayor wants me dead. I need to run, now! Please!"

"I will let you go if you tell me why the mayor wants you dead?"

"Because I know about you and your friends."

"What?"

"I know… and you are the rebel one. That's why they want you dead too. Now, please, let me go. I don't have much time. If you want, I can tell you things. But not now. I need to go. I need to disappear."

"But if you disappear, how can you tell me things?"

"I will leave a message. You will know."

"Do you know my name? Where I live."

"I don't know your name or where you live, a swear. But I know who your Boss are and how I can contact you. Now please… they're wakening."

Santana returned his wallet and motioned for the man to go.

She turned her attention to the three men who regained consciousness. He hit them again. They had a way of being just pawns. Santana tied their wrists and attached them to a pole when the victim was already far away. The guns were left with them and now it was up to the police to investigate. She climbed back into the building and watched the movement of a safe spot. She saw Hemon running for his life.

People noticed the men and called the cars. Although the firearms were right next door, the police didn't seem to care. Santana was even more surprised when men in suits mentioned the mayor and were released. Did Hemon really tell her the truth? She was intrigued and irritated. Why the mayor wanted to murder a man? Was the Boss a corrupt one who used them for obscure purposes? It was something that deserved investigation.

Santana thought that night was enough, and in the shadows she returned to the place where he used to hide her backpack with her "civilian" clothes on the edge of the campus. As soon as she picked up her pack she was startled by surprise. She went into combat and then relaxed.

"Artie!" Santana shouted, whispering to the flying friend, and removed the mask. "Aren't you afraid to get punched?"

"Yes, I do!" He said with his usual humor. "If I'm not mistaken, the Boss was very clear about banning the patrols."

"I heard." Artie floated beside her friend with her feet inches from the floor. It would look as if it would walk next to him. Santana took off her jacket and slipped the clothes into her backpack. "Today I stopped an execution of one Edward Hemon. We need to research. "

"Edward Hemon, like Professor Ed. Hemon?"

"Professor? Is he a professor?"

"He's a well-known researcher in my field. He works at the city hall. "

"I know. He told me. I just saved him to be killed with a bullet in his head."

"File burning?"

"I think so."

"What? How?"

"This professor said he know about us. All of us. The mayor knows he knows something about us and that's why they tried to kill him. Until I showed up. This man was legitimately scared, Artie. We have to check this out."

"We should tell Boss."

"Are you crazy? Of course we can't."

"But, San…"

"Artie, think! If the Boss may be involved somehow in dirty business, do you really think we should report to him."

"Can be a mistake."

"Can be or can't be. We should, at least, check before say something."

Artie nodded and accepted the answer.

"But what will you do now?"

"Now? Nothing! I can't think right. Too tired. But I'll call Grant tomorrow. We need to figure this out."

"I agree."

Santana was uneasy. She was really tired and her mind was full with all kind of problems.

"Can I ask you a more personal question?" Santana nodded to her friend. "You don't look happy. And I'm not talking about this current crisis."

"Should I? After everything that happened with the Boss?" Santana snapped.

"No. But something tells me it goes beyond the Boss. Does it have to do with the fact that you've talking with Rachel Berry these last few weeks?"

"Rachel Berry?"

"I'm not stupid, San. Those free lunches you received the week you took the shot came from the restaurant she works for and we all know you saved her from a rape, not from a robbery."

Santana sat on a public bench as soon as Artie reached his wheelchair. Artie and Mercedes were the people she trusted most in the world and it was time they knew the truth.

"Don't talk to anyone else about it, promise? Not even with Mercedes. If she knows, let it be for me."

"You know you can trust me."

"I'm kind of liking Rachel."

"What?" Artie got up from his chair to sit down immediately before anyone saw him. "Really? Wow! How? Why?"

"Why don't you ask me a question that I can answer? I don't know, okay? It just happened. Since that day I saved her I can't get her out of my mind."

"Rachel Berry? Wow! That's huge it's unexpected."

"Tell me about it."

"So she's the reason for your lousy mood today."

"Partly. Yesterday I went out to accompany her and we have a fight." She decided to hide the part of the kiss. The previous information was big enough for Artie. "Rachel can take me out of my mind and don't even apologize. It's frustrating."

"She knows you're the vigilante?"

"I kind of tell her… again…" Santana lied without knowing why. Her instinct was that she should change the story a little. "And I regret it."

"Well, if you do, why don't you ask the Boss to erase her mind again?"

"God, no!"

"You don't trust boss?"

"Come on, Artie! It looks like you didn't hear anything we talked about right now. Which part didn't you understand that we can't trust the Boss until we get some things clean?"

"But…"

"There's a reason I'm staying out of his telepathy. I don't like having people messing with my mind. You should do it to, Artie."

"He wouldn't do that."

"I have the right to have my reservations."

"The boss has reservations about you as well."

"Great. But the fact is it's best to leave Rachel out of it. In fact, do yourself a favour. Forget everything, okay? Forget what I told you tonight. You're clearly weird."

Artie nodded. He understood everything Santana said, about the professor, the mayor and about Rachel. He even agreed. But there was a certain mental confusion that seemed to block certain things and meanings.

They reached the bedroom and Santana regretted once more when she saw the sign on the "do not enter" door. She sighed. It was too late to knock on Jenny's door. Staring at the dorm that smelled like Artie's whistle seemed to be her only option.

…

Quinn woke up anxiously. She got up and did the whole routine in the morning. Quinn went to the bathroom, got dressed, prepared the meal for her daughter and this was the time when little Beth used to wake up, even on Sundays. The kid hugged her mother and gave her little kisses. Not long after, Matt rang the doorbell. Before, he'd kiss Quinn's cheek, but now her lips were allowed. The carpenter checked on what he could do to help, but in general his tasks were for post-coffee. In other words: help wash dishes.

"Today we're going to walk where?" Beth asked cheerfully.

"We are going to visit uncle Matt's friend" Quinn explained.

"Is there a pool there?" She asked expectantly.

"There's a pretty yard there, a huge television and, most importantly, a video game!" Matt replied and tweeted the little girl.

Soon the three were ready on their way to Martinez's residence. All three were greeted by Holly. She, always lively and bare, tried to distract Beth as the two young adults climbed the stairs to meet Martinez on the mezzanine. Holly was a public defender of the city and knew that her husband trained people with special gifts.

"Quinn!" Martinez hugged her new student. "I'm glad you really accepted to train."

"I want to see how far it takes."

"Of course. Sit down." He pulled up a bench and Quinn positioned himself in front of a small table with a bowl of water and thermometers. "Let's start with the basics. First I'd like to measure your temperature."

Quinn nodded. Martinez placed the thermometer under her arm, and when it whistled, it read 36 °C.

"Great. You have a temperature a little below average, but still normal" Martinez observed. "Now let's do this: I want you to touch your fingers in the water and try to cool it."

Quinn nodded. She waited for Martinez to note the water temperature before dipped her fingers. Martinez put the thermometer back under her arm and called for concentration.

" _Try to relax first and then concentrate on cooling the water._ " She heard the instructor's voice inside his head. She hated the sensation, but hold on. " _Take a deep breath and take your time_."

Quinn visualized freezing the water around her fingertips. She felt the waves of energy flow through her body until she was out of his fingertips and tried to keep the process going. When she opened her eyes after hearing a loud snap she saw Matt gaping ahead. The water she touched was in the process of freezing.

"Interesting," Martinez said as he checked the thermometers. "Your body is now at 34°C and the water is now at 1°C. How are you feeling?"

"Fine!" Quinn was impressed with herself.

"Do you mind if I measure your pressure?"

There was no problem and when Martinez did the procedure he smiled.

"Blood pressure perfectly normal. How it feels?"

"Well." Quinn raised an eyebrow. "I feel really good, actually."

Quinn had many doubts about herself and her own ability. Before, she was so ashamed of herself, she did so much to suppress herself and not let the anomaly appear. At that moment, taking tests and seeing Martinez jotting down everything in a notebook, despite the character of the experiment, she felt really good. It was wonderful not to need to hide.

At the end of the morning, after also watching Matt impressed juggling objects using only the power of his mind, Quinn met again with her daughter, who was happy to play with the dog and play video game. That part of the day was so good that she didn't even care when Martinez smiled sheepishly and apologized for coming out to solve a small emergency.

"How did you even find out Martinez?" Quinn asked in the car on the way home.

"I came to stop in this town because of him. To training with him."

"Training what, uncle Matt?" Beth asked curiously.

"Boxing," he replied.

"Mommy's going to boxing too?"

"Oh no, your mother is much more agile. She's going to practice karate."

"Can I practice karate too?"

"Who knows? It'll be good for you to kick the butts of the boys that bother you."

"Matt!" Quinn patted her boyfriend's shoulder.

…

Martinez wrote down all the test results he did with Quinn Fabray. He was positively impressed by her potential. He hadn't yet seen anyone with such power in years of experience in which he approached people endowed with him. He would definitely integrate Quinn in his scheme, but with caution. Martinez got up after lunch and went to the gym. It was Sunday and the day when many of the team liked to come by to talk and training a little. He made a point of attending, especially when he felt that the commanders could flee to command. Before he got to the gym, he put on his own mask. At that moment, Martinez became Boss. He found Artie, Brittany, and Grant over there. Matt would spend the rest of the day with his girlfriend and it was understandable that he was gone. But what about Santana? The order was for her to leave the streets, not for her to depart definitively from the group.

" _Who is Ed Hemon?_ " He asked, already capturing Artie's thoughts.

"He was the head of the city's T.I Department" Artie replied. "Santana saved him from being killed yesterday. Apparently he ran away from the city."

" _He left the city?_ "

"Yes, he did." Artie replied matter-of-factly.

" _Then I'll have a good chat with my old friend Angelina,_ " Boss thought to himself.

Grant knew the story. Santana called him asking for help in investigations. But unlike Artie, Grant had discipline when he behaved in front of the boss. All the time he was in that gym training, he thought only of the porn movie he watched before going to practice. Images of explicit sex were strong enough to hide other thoughts. There were inconsistencies, he spent all his time with a hard on, but it was how he got rid of his mind from the boss's polls. What Grant didn't want the Boss to know was that he agreed with Santana, but that, unlike her, he knew that if he were absent from regular meetings he would raise suspicions. And all they didn't want was a telepath anticipating the actions they would take.

…

…

(1) Pois é, by Chico Buarque

" _Yeah / is the said and the said again for not said / and it is difficult to say that it was beautiful / it is useless to sing what I lost._

 _There / Our more than perfect is undone / and what seemed so direct / fell that way without forgiveness._

 _So / Disguise my pain I can't / say: we are always good friends / it's too much a lie for me._

 _Anyway / today in the loneliness still cost / to understand how the love was so unfair / for who only it was dedication._

 _Yeah_ "

Chico Buarque de Holanda is considered THE best lyricists of Brazilian popular music of all time. He's a Communist party militant and, ironically, the richest period of his career, the most beautiful compositions, were made during the military dictatorship. I don't like the person Chico Buarque. I don't think any ideology can be above good census and ethics. But I think the artist Chico Buarque is indisputable.

Search Youtube: Chico Buarque pois é.


	12. vigilante besieged

The police were surrounded. The only alternative to escape was up and she didn't think twice. The vigilante climbed an emergency ladder and headed for the roof. She tried to move as fast as she could because four pursuers were nearby. There was a shot of someone off the ground. One, two and more. The cops weren't kidding. The order was to capture her alive or dead. Preferably dead to avoid expenses with judgment. All the vigilante could do was keep zigzagging, jumping, landing, and running back to the next building until it's time to get down. The policemen didn't give up and the vigilante prayed that the aim would continue bad. Zigzagging upset her, but how could they facilitate her job? There was no such luxury.

Good thing the police hadn't call the helicopters yet. Without wasting time, she jumped another building. It wasn't a complicated jump even for an ordinary person. For this very reason, she regretted not having gone to the other side and jumped about ten feet from the alley that separated one building from the other. There she would have taken advantage.

The vigilante looked back and saw that a policeman was closer. Two were behind. They fired, and the vigilante was forced to guard behind the internal access door. She heard words of command and more shots. Staying there behind the barrier wasn't an option, getting in would mean risking other people's lives and racking up cases if it came out alive. The nearest agent prepared to jump and the others would soon follow. She ran straight and jumped another building. The next one was more challenging. She ran straight, gained speed, and jumped. The agents were stunned. It was humanly impossible. In the confusion of the cops, she gained distance.

At the end of the block, there was no way except to get down. There were two patrols accompanying them, and the vigilante desperately needed a solution. She analysed the geography of the place. She calculated that if she jumped toward the back of the building, she could try to reach a fire escape and gain time on the patrols. She jumped. How she wanted to be Spider-Man right now. The vigilante managed to reach the hardware. The impact was strong, it made noise. But she managed to hold on and then dropped three floors. Fortunately, power also involved resistance.

Her ankle suffered with the impact. She didn't know what had happened, but she was certain she couldn't keep up. The pain was terrible, sharp. She was limping. But the vigilante couldn't stop. She crossed the street in front of the patrol, get in the alley ahead. She jumped over the fence and into another alley. She crossed the street again and disappeared into another alley. She managed to mislead the patrols. It was a temporary situation. She climbed an emergency ladder again and won the roof. From above she watched carefully the movement of the police. They didn't give up. She jumped into the back building. Another jump of meters, but without persecutors this time. She fell rolling on the roof and hit her ribs. Her ankle throbbed. She needed to stop to breathe or she wouldn't stand.

The good news is that she knew that building and the street. The vigilante wouldn't have been able to get home unharmed under those conditions. She was slower and could be stuck. She needed a temporary emergency port. she jumped two buildings to the left and jumped to reach the next. More pain. She went down the emergency stairs to the third floor. She forced the window of the apartment and got in. The vigilante met a known young man inside, who would react and shout. She had to resist the pain to overpower him and keep him from screaming. Brute force was in the order of the day, and she was successful.

In the next second, the other woman in the apartment widened her eyes and put her hands to her mouth. But she didn't scream.

"Release him!" The other woman ordered loudly.

The vigilante let go, raised one hand and with the other practically begged for silence.

"Rachel!" Kurt panicked after being attacked. "Call the police now!"

"No ... no!" Rachel said emphatically, despite the nervousness. "Wait."

"Wait?" Kurt shouted almost hysterical. "There's a thug in our room..."

Kurt was silenced in a left-wing coup. The punch hit his chin and the faintness came immediately. Rachel jumped back, horrified at the sudden violence. The vigilante looked out the window. The police were in the area. She closed the curtains in front of a paralyzed colleague. The vigilante went to the young man who had been unconscious, tied his wrists with the wax and searched for something to cover his mouth. She found the dishcloth in the kitchen. It would serve.

"You can't do this to him!" Rachel protested. "Untie Kurt."

"He's going to hand me over." Rachel heard Santana's altered voice over the mask. Rachel would never get used to it. The voice was strange, masculine.

Rachel considered for a minute and yes, Kurt would be able to do something stupid. She took a tape from her bedroom and covered her friend's mouth. It was better than the dishcloth. In the meantime, the sirens were high and the police scurried around the block in search of the vigilante.

"What did you do?" Rachel looked out the living room window. She was furious.

"I'm investigating a case. An important one involving big dogs." Santana sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. But she didn't remove the mask. The ankle's pain was strong and she wouldn't be surprised if she had fractured or even broken it.

"Are you injured?"

"No," her voice didn't disguise the pain. Rachel put her hands around her waist without believing Santana. "I guess I just twisted my ankle. Nothing serious."

"How?" As Rachel received no answer, she thought better. Confronting Santana wouldn't be the best policy in the face of the tense situation. "You have to be more careful."

"I just need to catch my breath and wait for the police to leave the area."

"I'll get some ice."

Kurt woke up from the knock. It was a bit confusing. He was lying on the floor of the living room, and whoever knocked him out was the killer vigilante. He realized that his hands and mouth were tied. He moaned and caught the attention of the vigilante, but she didn't move either. The vigilante was just there, sitting on the floor leaning against the wall. Kurt moaned louder when he saw Rachel entering the room with an ice pack. Kurt sat down and his friend stopped in front of him.

"Kurt, if you're my friend, you're really not going to do anything, you're not going to scream or make a scandal. Can I trust you?" The young man nodded. Rachel then removed the tape on his mouth.

"What do you think you're doing?" He snorted. "This guy is dangerous. He's a killer!"

"You're wrong!" Rachel said harshly before turning her attention to the vigilante.

Kurt watched fascinated as Rachel put her hand on one of his legs as if they were both intimate. The vigilante nodded. She untied her shoelace and pulled out the heavy sneakers carefully. Without removing the sock, she applied the ice pack. The vigilante nodded waved again, as if to thank her. Rachel, oblivious to her best friend's remark, slipped her hand under her jacket and felt her ribs. It triggered a reaction when she pressed on the right side, just at the end of the rib cage.

"I'm not believing that," Kurt snarled and grabbed his best friend's attention. "How can you handle a dangerous guy?"

"This dangerous guy saved me once, remember?" Rachel answered dryly.

"It doesn't mean you have any debt."

The vigilante rolled her eyes behind the mask. She sighed and tried to get up, but she grunted loudly. The blood was cooling down and the discomfort increased.

"What are you doing?" Rachel turned her attention to the other. The vigilante pointed to the window. "Are you leaving now?" She folded her arms.

The vigilante stood and picked up her boot. She squatted and closed her eyes because of the throbbing.

"No!" Rachel stopped her before she had a chance to tie up her shoelace. "You can't leave with so many patrols on the streets."

"If he wants to go, you should allow it, Rachel."

The vigilante finished composting, put on her sneaker again, bearing the pain of a very swollen ankle, and went to the window. She tried to ignore the pain, but she couldn't disguise the limp.

"Don't you dare leave this room." Rachel got in the way and the vigilante pushed her to the side. "No!" She tried to insist and hold the vigilante by her arm, but was pushed again. This time with more force.

She jumped at the window she'd broken into a few minutes earlier and went down the stairs trying to lighten the weight on her ankle. Still in the shadows, she saw the police drive through the streets. But the patrols were headed to the next street and that would be the opportunity to leave. A new patrol entered the street and the officers were holding open windows holding flashlights. The guard waited behind a garbage can and calculated a safe distance to cross the street. She had to get to the park and change her clothes. Santana took off her mask and jacket, despite the temperature. She felt the cold breeze of the night touch her skin now protected only by a black sleeveless shirt. She lifted the lid of the garbage carefully and tossed the jacked and the mask inside. She pulled of the elastic that tied her hair and placed it in one of her pockets. Santana waited for the police to leave the street before leaving the shadows and walking again on the streets as Santana Lopez.

Lurching, she tried to hurry up the steps to the park, thanks her superhuman strength and endurance. She thought seriously about triggering Brittany. One call was enough for the cavalry to pack. But she remembered what the Boss may ask questions that the healer may can't keep to herself. Besides that, Brittany's power required a lot of energy and it wasn't nice to exhaust her colleague for nothing. Although the ankle twist and chest pain weren't exactly a scratch.

"Get on this bike!" Santana heard a commanding voice. It was Rachel, who took a bike she wasn't using for a long time and reached it at the entrance to the park.

"Are you serious?" Santana laughed until she gasped again.

"I can take you to the hospital."

"No way!"

"To your dorm, so."

"No way I'm get on this bike with you. This is ridiculous."

"Why did you leave like that?" Rachel snorted.

"Kurt would call the police. He's probably doing it right now." Santana sounded tired.

"No. I told him not to!" Rachel said uncertainly that her best friend would respect her wishes.

"Whatever!" Santana groaned in pain and paused for a moment. "Look, Berry, I'm sorry for the inconvenience. It turns out that you were the person I knew and could trust, in spite of everything, that lived in the roundhouses. And I was in an emergency situation. The last thing I wanted was to get you involved ... and Lady Lips."

"Santana! You can't walk. Get on, please. I'm stronger than you think."

Santana sighed. It was so humiliating to her. But walking into the dorms would be complicated. She then climbed onto the rump of Rachel's bike.

"To your dorm?"

"Yeah."

"Mercedes wouldn't make questions?"

"No. She knows about me."

"Really?" Rachel was jealous that she was not the only one. On the other hand, Mercedes was Santana's best friend and roommate. It made perfect sense.

"But Cedes doesn't know that you know about me."

"Makes sense."

Rachel concentrated on driving the bike. It was a little extra exercise she was doing. Fortunately, the path was not long. They could hear the sound of police sirens in the distance. They were still looking for the vigilante, but Rachel wasn't worried. When they arrived in the dormitory, they came across the code that said that Mercedes was sleeping with her boyfriend. Santana looked at Rachel. She had no way of explaining that she had no place to sleep that night.

"Mercedes is with her boyfriend. Maybe Artie can give me the floor." Santana said.

"Artie? Floor?"

"He lives two stores above and never asks questions."

"But this time he'll ask, Santana. There's no way anyone's going to be a bit curious to see a friend come in limping and pained. And you should go to the hospital now. Or look for your friend who does the cures."

"I can go to the hospital. But not today. The police don't know that I sprained my ankle or injured my ribs, but I don't want to risk it. Not now. It would be too coincidental."

"It makes no sense for you to spend the night in pain."

"I have no choice. I'll go to the hospital tomorrow, promise. I just need a place to stay tonight and Artie is my best choice."

"I know a place where you can spend the night comfortably and you won't have to answer questions. I mean, I will, but that will be my problem."

"I still prefer Artie. Why complicate? You can go Berry. Go back to Kurt before he does something stupid."

"My father is a doctor. Homeopath, but a doctor who can take a look at you and give you some medicine."

"Your father? Like, the one you aren't very close. So how can I trust?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Santana said without thinking properly and closed her eyes regretfully.

"Then let my dad take a look."

"Rachel..."

"See, you've even gotten used to calling me Rachel instead of Berry! Let's call a taxi and have some decent place to sleep."

Santana began to believe that maybe Rachel really had a power: to get everything she wanted. She resigned and accepted her colleague's proposal. Rachel called for a taxi service and paid the race in cash so that there would be no problem. She took Santana's hand all the way.

"Since you're going to take me to your parents' house, I think that gives me the right to ask: why do you avoid to talk about them? At least until now?"

"I broke up with them years ago because of Finn."

"Were they against your relationship?"

"Yes and no. I mean, they don't like Finn at all, but they tolerated him. Until the day I knew I hadn't been accepted to the Metropolis School of Arts. Finn proposed marriage and my parents freaked out. They said he was mediocre and wanted to ruin my future, etc, etc, etc. It was an ugly fight. I left home after the discussion and moved in with Kurt. Obviously I declined Finn's request for marriage. It wouldn't be fair to marry Finn and hurt even more my dads. I'm not that bitch."

"Oh!" Santana frowned. "And you've been talking to your parents all this time?"

"They call me sometimes. But I haven't saw them since the day I left home."

"And you're dragging me straight into this family drama? How wonderful!"

"You need a doctor, right? My father is the only doctor I know of with availability. In addition, in their house you can have a bed to rest a little bit."

The taxi driver stopped the car in front of a two-story white house. It was a beautiful, well-kept place and definitely smelled of money. The vigilante understood that her colleague must have been very brave to give up such comfort to have a life of struggle and financial hardship.

"Could you wait for me here? Please?"

Santana nodded and watched Rachel walking toward the front door. In a way, Rachel looked like a little girl knocking on the door of her parents' house to apologize for breaking the window. Santana didn't want to imagine the pride that Rachel would have to swallow. That was definitely not a good idea. But what? Her ankle and ribs throbbed and she needed some care. She looked at her cell's watch. Ten minutes of conversation inside and it's cold. She thought of listening to some music. selected a romantic one, but it had such soft sound that it made her forget for a moment.

" _Pra você guardei o amor que nunca soube dar/ o amor que tive e vi sem me deixar sentir sem conseguir provar/ sem entregar e repartir/ Pra você guardei o amor que sempre quis mostrar/ o amor que vive em mim vem visitar sorrir, vem colorir solar/ vem esquentar e permitir..._ " (1)

She closed her eyes. She loved that one.

The door's house opened again at the end of the song. Santana couldn't tell whether the coincidence was good or bad. Rachel was accompanied by a short white man wearing glasses. He smiled uncertainly.

"Hello, Santana. My name is Hiram Berry, I'm Rachel's father. "

"Good evening Mr. Berry," She said awkwardly.

The man helped her to walk into the house. Santana wasn't surprised to come across a place of elegant decoration. It was in a room of three environments, in which one of them stood out the black piano of syrup. One so lustrous it looked like a mirror. There was a black man, taller, who identified himself as Leroy.

"Let me see that." Hiram untied the heavy sneakers tie and took it off with the utmost care. He frowned as he removed Santana's sock. The place was pretty swollen. "Can you move your foot?"

"Hardly, but I can." Santana struggled with a grimace. She managed to move up and down a few times.

Hiram continued to examine the place.

"I don't think there's anything broken here. Maybe you've bent a bone or bruised your ligaments in the effort you've made. It can only confirm with exams. What we can do is treat with ice and give you some analgesics and an anti-inflammatory I'm sure Leroy keep in this house."

"Of course sweetheart. It's not that I do not believe in your medicine. It's just that sometimes I need something fast." Leroy smiled.

"I'm sorry I can't do more than that, Santana. I am a homeopath, but there are emergency situations that my specialty doesn't meet. Orthopaedics is one of them. Not at this stage."

"It's fine. Thank you for your attention."

The man nodded.

"Rachel, my dear. Maybe you can help me prepare a bucket of ice and cold water for your friend while your father tidies up the guest room."

Santana thanked him once more. In a few minutes she was offered tea along with the medicines and some chocolate cake. Hot stomach to an ankle immersed in ice water. Great contrast.

"So, Santana, what do you do?" Leroy asked.

"I study Architecture and Urbanism at the Free State University, sir."

"It seems to be a great area of action."

"It's my thing, Mr. Berry."

The man smiled and shook his head. Perhaps there wasn't a good remedy for such formalities. Still, he liked the girl. How could it be otherwise if Santana was the reason Rachel had seen them again after three years.

"Rachel said you're part of the theatre group." Leroy continued to try to socialize even though he was still uncomfortable with the stranger.

"Yes. I met your daughter there."

"So who drove you to do theater?"

"A colleague of ours, Tina Chang. One day she made the invitation to join the cast of amateur theater. My best friend, Mercedes Jones, has this thing to sing and shine and in that sense she looks like Rachel. Well... Mercedes wanted to go into the theater and dragged Artie and me with her."

"Artie?"

"My other best friend. "

"And which play are they currently rehearsing?"

"Tropicália, Daddy." Rachel said hastily. She saw that Santana had finished her lunch (she would hardly refuse food) and decided it was time to retire. "Santana had a busy day. Maybe it's time we retired."

Santana was surprised by Rachel's behaviour. She seemed tense all the time, but she had no right to question her. Santana removed her foot from the ice basin and wiped it with the towel provided. Rachel and Leroy helped her walk to the guest room on the first floor of the house. It was a simple room with a double bed, a bedside table and a small closet. The vigilante thanked the help and lay down in the comfortable bed. She felt strange, uncomfortable. But what the hell, the bed was really comfortable.

"Let me help you get those pants off."

"Don't get too excited." Santana teased.

"Looks like it!" Rachel snapped as she see the vigilante in her underwear. "You're not as sexy as you think."

"It's not me who's saying I'm sexy."

Rachel pulled Santana's pants with a frown on her face. The vigilante complained of the friction with the injured ankle and the smile disappeared. She was surprised when Rachel switched off the light, went around the bed, and lay down next to her.

"Are you going to sleep here with me?" Santana was suddenly nervous. "Don't you have your own room or something?"

"Where else would I sleep? On the couch? And my old room is no longer mine. I feel like a guest here as much as you."

"But..."

"Are you afraid. Can't the brave vigilante share a bed with me?"

"Don't be cruel." Santana pondered. "I just... it's weird..."

"Because we kissed once?" Rachel tidied up the blanket and threw herself over the bed, covering the vigilante's legs in the process. "That was nothing."

"Sorry." Santana slid under the covers, finally lying down.

They stop talking for a moment. Rachel turned her back and cut off any chance of the conversation continuing. There were questions, but they would have to wait. Anyway, Santana was exhausted and needed to sleep. The medicine began to take effect and sleep came quickly.

…

She awoke to the sound of her cell phone ringing in the pocket of her mismatched trousers on the floor of the room. She had the uncomfortable feeling that she had only slept for a minute. But the light that flooded into the room said otherwise. There was a body leaning against hers and an arm crossed at her waist. She turned carefully to see Rachel and was startled when she realized she was awake.

"You moaned in pain a good part of the night." Rachel leaned her head but didn't move or took her arm off Santana. In spite of everything, she was ridiculously comfortable next to the body of the vigilante.

"Sorry" Santana said, still ignoring the cell phone.

"Won't you answer?"

"It must be Mercedes worried because of the classes, or Artie. I can call them later."

"Are you better?"

"I'll get it fast." tried to get up, but the pains in the rib made her reconsider.

"It seems not so fast. You didn't heal so fast that time..." Rachel finally pulled her arm off the vigilante and lay on her back

"Of course, I lost I lot of blood. What do you want?"

"You should go to the hospital. I can take you. My daddy hardly ever uses his car."

"I think you've done enough. You've gotten too involved. I didn't want..."

"Cut the crap." Santana admired Rachel's sudden dryness. "I've been involved since the day you saved me and you know it."

"Sorry about that, Rachel. Not the part I saved you, of course. But yesterday... I was running out of options and your home was my only good alternative."

"You did right, San." Santana raised an eyebrow. It was the first time Rachel called her by the nickname. "I'll help you whenever I can. I'd like you to know that, that you can trust me."

"I trust you, Rachel. Really. But I still regret for getting you involved like that. What I do is dangerous and I don't want you to start living like me: always afraid that someone wrong will find out."

"Someone wrong?"

"Someone who would report me and my friends in the blink of an eye, like Kurt or Finn."

Rachel nodded. Santana's fear was justifiable. The little diva was silent. She watched the vigilante's features, the perfect profile, the fleshy lips, the smooth silky black hair. Rachel was definitely attracted to her. She pulled Santana's face and leaned over to kiss her. The vigilante accepted the caress, which seemed natural to her. She closed her eyes and appreciated the softness of the singer's lips. She felt the tip of Rachel's tongue request to enter and she gave it passage. Rachel loved kissing her while she was astonished at how much Santana had allowed her to be in the dominant position.

"What are you doing to me?" Rachel asked herself more than she questioned the vigilante as she broke the kiss.

"I ask the same question to myself" Santana said still feeling the peace provided by the caress.

"It's like you're a magnet." Rachel touched Santana's lips with her fingertips and kissed her again. "Why something so wrong feels so right? Can you explain me?"

"I don't know what I should say, Rachel."

"I love my boyfriend… I love Finn… but I can't stop thinking about you. I spend my day wanting to talk to you, stay with you… I wanted to be your friend since before… that…"

Santana's cell vibrated once more interrupting Rachel's erratic confession.

"I'll pick up the phone for you." Rachel got up and picked up the cellphone from the pants pocket and handed it over. Santana saw that she had lost four calls from Artie and five from Mercedes. She decided to return to her friends.

"Artie, what's it?"

" _Santana, where are you?_ " His voice sounded urgent and it made her instinctively sit up despite the pain in her ribs.

"I'm..." She looked at Rachel, who looked worried. "I'm fine and safe. Why?"

" _Are you with Rachel?_ "

"Yes, why?"

" _San, wherever you are, get away from her. There is as occurrence that the vigilante invaded Rachel and Kurt's apartment. The police are looking for Rachel._ "

"What?" Santana got up and the adrenaline made her ignore the pain in her ankle.

" _If you're near her... get out!_ "

She hung up the phone and looked out the bedroom window. There were still no signs of police yet.

"What was it?" Rachel was on the verge of panic.

"Kurt has filed a complaint and the police are looking for you. I need to get out of here."

"No! You stay!" Rachel jumped out of bed and hurriedly put her clothes "I'm going to report to the police and deny it."

"Deny?" Santana tried to analyse the problem quickly. "How?"

"I'll tell the truth, I went out to cool my head, then I slept in my parents' house. I have two alibis, right?"

"Alright... but how the hell you will explain me? Rachel, in everybody's eyes, we can't stand each other. They will figure out."

"I will think on something."

"Sorry but I'm leaving now. Thank your parents for me." Santana put her pants on. Then took her sneakers and put them on even with the pain.

"There has to be another way."

"I'll be fine, Rachel."

"But what about your injuries? You can hardly walk. "

"I heal fast!"

Santana opened the window and ran down the lawn to the street. She tried to ignore the pain and avoided limping at all costs. Kurt must have reported to the police that the vigilante was injured. Santana walked and sweated cold for five blocks until she reached a white one-story house with a beautiful garden in front. The house was striking to have a willow tree in front. She didn't ring the bell. Instead she picked up the phone and called.

" _Santana?_ " Was Brittany's voice. " _What happened?_ "

"Britt, I'm in front of your house and I need help."

" _Turn around and get into my bedroom window_."

Santana obeyed. Brittany's window looked out into the backyard. Santana circled and found the window open. She didn't hesitate to jump. Brittany wasn't in the room. Santana, who no longer disguised the limp, sat down in the chair on the computer table. She tried to relax. A few minutes later, her friend got in the room and finds the masked companion quiet.

"You look awful!"

"I think I twisted my foot and I hurt my ribs. The police are looking for me... or rather an injured vigilante."

"I can't fix broken bones out of place."

"Please. Do what is possible to do."

"Did you talk to Boss?" Brittany knelt in front of Santana and helped her pull off her boots.

"No. Britt, you can tell Boss or anyone about it. Please!"

"OK. Breathe deeply."

Brittany put her hand on Santana's ankle and closed her eyes. A bluish light appeared in the dancer's palm and in a short time the injured ankle got better. Santana lifted her blouse and pointed to the place that hurt in her ribs. Brittany repeated the procedure. She put her hand back and the light came back on. Santana had no words to thank her. A little panting, Brittany got up and walked to the wardrobe.

"You can't go out with those pants and sneakers. I'll get some clothes. Maybe it will get a little big, but it will fit."

Santana changed her clothes and had a shower. Still from her friend's house, she made some phone calls. Mercedes tried to keep her up to date and Artie kept internal control. Brittany persuaded her to stay late while things were going on. Despite the healing process, Santana needed to rest a little longer. She slept in her friend's bed the whole day.

...

What happened that night was that after Rachel ran after the vigilante, Kurt tried to honour the promise he had made to his best friend. He was frightened by the vigilante's violence (and his chin was purple and very sore). But he was even more impressed by the level of intimacy Rachel had shown to the masked man. As if they knew each other, something that was beyond the casual rescue. Kurt worried about his friend as the hours passed. Rachel hadn't reported, and it seemed she had blocked his calls. He couldn't stand this apprehension and called his step-brother. Finn, unlike Kurt, didn't hesitate to call the police when he heard about. He didn't know if he was angrier that the vigilante had invaded his girlfriend's and step-brother's home to get away from the police, or because Rachel had helped him and also ran after him.

Yes, Finn was mad with his girlfriend, but he would place all the blame on the vigilante.

They told most of the story about the vigilante to the police, but their testimony suggested that Rachel had been kidnapped, not willingly. The luck of Rachel and Santana is that Finn never considered calling Rachel's dads. Even when the police asked, he said exactly that Rachel had not seen or talked to her dads for three years. And it wouldn't be that night that Hiram and Leroy would be useful. The police left it to Finn to tell Rachel's parents or not, which of course he didn't.

After Santana ran out of Rachel's parents' home, the singer also rushed in knowing she needed to show up as quickly as possible. She spoke quickly to her dads and begged them not to open their mouths under the threat of never coming back there again. Rachel reiterated that Santana was in trouble and that she was committed to helping her the best she could.

"But Rachel…" Hiram was worried. "That girl might be dangerous."

"No, she's not." Rachel retaliated. "I owe my life to that girl. I was raped and she saved me."

When Leroy and Hiram heard the word "rape," a bomb exploded in their hearts. Never in a million years could they think that their little girl, that protected and beloved Rachel, could suffer that violence. But they also understood why Rachel was being so loyal to Santana.

Rachel asked her father to drop her off a block before her and Kurt's apartment and made the rest of the way walking. She was intercepted at the door of the apartment by a police officer and immediately incarcerated to testify at the police station. Rachel refuted Kurt's version. She said that the vigilante left the apartment of his own free will and that he never threatened to hurt them. Rachel also confirmed that the vigilante was injured, that he could barely walk. Still, when she went out to look for him, she couldn't find him anywhere.

"Do you know him?" Asked the detective.

"I met him on three occasions: when he saved me from a robbery, once out of my job, he wanted to make sure I was really okay, and yesterday."

"But do you know him?"

"I've never seen him without the mask, he uses something that modifies his voice, Kurt can confirm that for you, so I wouldn't know if he would cross the street with me."

"Miss Berry, you know that protecting a criminal is also a crime."

"I'm not protecting or hiding anyone, sir. But I'm not going to deny that I support the vigilante. He saved me and I'm sure he didn't kill that boy."

The detective felt that Rachel wasn't as useful as he had hoped and dismissed her. But not before trying to coerce her and terrorize her with the possibility of arrest. Rachel didn't shake. Finn, who was also at the police station, took her home. The first thing she did was slap her boyfriend in the face.

"You're getting involved with dangerous people, Rach," Finn appealed. He tried to put a little sense in her mind.

"I'm not involved with the vigilante. We only met a few times. But if I were, I swear I would help him without hesitation." Rachel faced Finn.

"What I do know is that this vigilante is digging a hole deeper and deeper. You don't not want to get involved with him. It's too dangerous. Do not you see?" Finn screamed in frustration.

"You're right, Finn. It can be really dangerous. But you forgot one detail: the vigilante is innocent and even with the police behind him, he continues to make rounds in the streets to save people. Then you tell me that you have to help push that person into hellfire?"

"He assaulted me, Rachel," Kurt argued. "He broke into our house, gagged me, tied me up, beat me up."

"He only punched you because you were hysterical and would get the attention of the neighbours. Do you wanna know? I don't want to see the face of either of you. Now, if you'll excuse me, since I've missed school today, so I'm going to sleep for work later."

Rachel knocked her bedroom door.

…

"I do not feel like going to rehearsal," Santana said still in Brittany's room after spending the whole day at her old friend's house. She had already called her friends, including Rachel, and reassured them all.

"You have to go. Haven't you lost all classes today? People can talk if you miss the rehearsal too. Besides, today is our first general rehearsal."

Mike went to pick up Brittany and was surprised to see Santana accompany them as well. Despite the atypical day, no one was missing. Santana walked back and forth unkempt, made extra insults to Kurt and Finn, and avoided Rachel. But it was not possible. The cell phone rang and the girl's name appeared on the screen.

"Hey!" Santana said quietly as she walked into the parking lot to get some fresh air. Rachel was in the theater's dressing room.

" _Are you alright?_ "

"I am. I got help from my other friends. "

" _I understood_." There was a brief silence. " _Can you meet me at my parents' house after the theater?_ "

"Better not." Santana sighed. "Berry, I thank you for everything you did for me yesterday, but we have to get away. I've brought too many problems for you."

" _That's my call._ "

"No, it's not. Please, Rachel. I'm fine and I'm glad that you also fine. What happened yesterday won't happen again. I promise you. I'd rather get shot and be arrested than put you in that situation again."

Santana hung up the phone. Rachel was already too involved and insisting would be stupid. Especially with the mood of romance. A relationship with the singer was insanity. There was danger, the siege closed, and the last thing Santana wanted was to see Rachel hurt.

…

…

(1) Pra Você Eu Guardei o Amor, by Nando Reis

"For you I kept the love that I never knew how to give / the love I had and I saw without letting me feel without being able to prove / without giving and sharing / For you I kept the love that I always wanted to show / love that lives in me come visit smile, come solar colour / come warm and allow ... "

Nando Reis began his career in Titãs, a punk-rock band from the 1980s. Titãs had eight members and worked in anarchist system, leaderless logic. Of the eight members, four were settling on vocals. Nando Reis was one of them. He left Titãs in the mid-1990s to try a solo career. His compositions didn't have much space in the band, yet there were a lot of singers who recorded them, especially Marisa Monte and Cássia Eller. As a solo artist, Nando Reis is a tremendous hitmaker. Pra Você Guardei o Amor is a duet with Ana Cañas. This song has almost six minutes, only voice and acoustic guitar, with a long lyric that feels like a mantra. This song made a huge success in Brazil. In fact, a lot of people started to play it in weddings.

Search Youtube: Ana Canas e Nando Reis


	13. Brittany's story

Brittany Pierce knows she's not the brightest cookie in the pot. Her parents and younger sister too. After graduating from Junior High next to age 15, after all efforts, including private tutoring, she didn't want to go through the exhaustion of graduating from high school after the age of 20. Brittany's parents tried homeschooling after she was bullied at high school, but her interest was not in history, math or physics. Brittany remembered with proud the day she sat with her family along with her private teacher and had a serious talk. She knew she would never go to a university or get a good job for smart people, as she defined. She wouldn't be a lawyer, or a doctor, or an architect. On the other hand, Brittany could do something better than anyone else: dancing. She was 17 years old.

She had a rare penchant for the arts and so decided that instead of traditional academic efforts, she would invest in what she believed to have been born. She talked to the director of the best dance academy in the city and studied there. Hip Hip, free style, tapping, those were the subjects Brittany was looking for, and she was the best of her class. When she was 20 years old, the director proposed her to teach the group of beginners. It was basically a group of pre-teens. Brittany got the job as a teacher and continue to develop in the more advanced classes. She even did some professional works dancing in video clips and at parties.

It was at a party where she first caught Martinez attention. She turned wrong and twisted her ankle. But as she had become accustomed to doing, she rubbed her hand in the injured place and mentalized the cure itself. The scene was accompanied by an attentive Martinez, who wanted to talk with her immediately. He knew it was a power, that Brittany was even more special.

That is how she became the second student of the telepath man, but who nevertheless helped her to develop an incredible gift. Healing people was a divine, miraculous power that could make her revered. But Brittany was never an exhibitionist and her personality fell like a glove for the Boss' plans too. Her goal was to effectively help others in what was essential: health. After some training, Martinez put a mask on his student and, with Grant's help, they went to the hospital to perform some experiments. The idea of the mask was timely for that moment because he didn't want the patients to wake up and identify Brittany. They could start treating her like a messiah and Martinez (and the Boss) would like to avoid such a situation at all costs. Brittany didn't even think about it.

It was a thrill when Brittany ran her hands over a recently operated ICU in critical condition, and did a little miracle. On the nights she and Martinez spent in the hospital, they learned the limits of that precious power. Brittany wasn't able to cure cancer, resuscitate someone or treat severe infections. But she repaired broken organs, cuts, wounds caused by bullets and so on. Martinez teach her, but the Boss was the one who summoned her to be part of an elite group that was supposed to act in the shadows to fight crime. Brittany, Grant and Matt were the first ones.

At the age of 21, Brittany met Santana Lopez and Artie Abrams, both younger, introduced by Martinez. The sophomore college girl, so full of herself, tried to flirt with her, but Brittany rejected her not because it was a homosexual relationship, or because the girl was two years younger. She knew Santana was a good person, but she would never embark on a relationship with someone so overbearing and self-absorbed. Besides, Brittany had other problems in mind. Other interests.

She had some relationships. Most sexual. She lost her virginity at age 15 at a party for a neighbour three years older. They met with a certain regularity throughout that year. When Brittany finally had the courage to stop playing the nymphet in a barely illegal relationship, encouraged by Martinez, she spent a few months alone until she started dating a female classmate. The relationship lasted three months, at which time her girlfriend was accepted into the Metropolis School of Arts. Brittany couldn't even try the selection, because she didn't finish high school.

Mike Chang tried to get in the same school around the same time as Brittany's ex-girlfriend, but he wasn't accepted. Mike and Brittany met when he was hired to teach at Junior High and he joined the same dance studio Brittany was. That's how he got into town and met Brittany in person. They'd dated for a few months until they realized they worked better as friends. If the two-way relationship didn't work out, at least they got close enough to make a common plan: they would raise enough money to get out of that town and try their luck in metropolis as professional dancers. They thought they deserved more. In the meantime, Brittany had a few small affairs with both men and women. Mike and she were hired at the amateur theater company as a plan for get some more money, and it was a surprise to Brittany to find Santana and Artie, Martinez's newest students, there.

It was at this same time that she began a secret relationship with another person who, in a way, left her stuck in the city.

"Britt Britt!" Mike hugged her. "I have news."

"Do you?" She clapped her hands. She needed some good news. "What is it?"

"Remember that video we made and posted on Youtube?" She just nodded and waited for her friend to continue. "Rick Gordon saw it and his representative called me today. He said Gordon's going to promote some auditions for his professional dance company and he said he would like to see us performing."

Brittany's eyes widened. The chance to get out of the city had come. She wanted to allow herself to be cheerful and bouncy, but her feelings were divergent. To leave at that moment? She would have to think hard about it.

"I thought you'd be more excited." Mike frowned.

"I'm... shocked... but happy!"

"Doesn't appear."

"You took me by surprise, Mike. It's been weeks since we post this video that I thought it wouldn't work."

"Have you ever imagined us in the metropolis? Imagine what we could do in the largest city in the country?"

"It would be so cool." Brittany forced a smile and hugged Mike.

"We have exactly three weeks to do our best at the premiere and get ready for the audition. Extra training after class? A little bodybuilding, stretching and some dancing?"

"Of course!"

Brittany prepared for her class. She took one last check on the lesson plan and timeline, the music, what she needed to use. As always, it was a cheerful class. She had seven students: six girls and one boy. Everyone in their 14s who sweated a lot to follow the complex movements of the skillful teacher.

At the end of an hour of intense activity with her students, Brittany met Mike and they started to work out, planning the performance they supposed to do. Brittany felt her stomach get colder just thinking on the possibility to leave the town. She was very comfortable with the little life she had. Knowing that there was a real possibility to grow was scary. But she continued to rehearse with her friend, without externalizing her own anguish. Mike didn't have the same problem. He was two years older than Brittany and was already a breadwinner. It was easier for him since there were no moorings in the city: neither his main job at school, the dacing classes, the theater group, nor the fact that he was flirting with Tina. What did he have to lose?

Brittany left the dance studio after rehearsal. I was tired but I didn't feel like going home. She needed to talk about what she was feeling. Someone who knew about her secret side and yet was neutral enough. She smiled to herself as she searched for the name on her cell phone.

" _Brittany?_ " Santana was legitimately surprised by the phone call.

"Hi, Santana. Are you busy?"

" _Not exactly. I mean... I'm studying, but it's not something I can 't stop if I have to._ "

"Could we talk before we go to rehearsal?"

" _Of course! Do you want me to come to your house or meet in a neutral place?_ "

"Do you know that diner near the theater? We could meet there."

The diner was a reasonable place to sell good natural sandwiches and apple pies. There were tables on the sidewalk and people didn't disturb. Brittany was nervous. It seemed insane to choose to talk justly with Santana instead of someone else, like Grant, or someone more serious like Matt. Even Mercedes seemed a more sensible option. Santana was the most uncompromising person of the group, at least that was what Boss complained about. Britanny didn't quite understand what the Boss wanted to say about it, but what she knew was that her colleague had no ties to that town, despite being so involved in being the vigilante.

Brittany was the first to arrive at the place. She picked up a table from the sidewalk and ordered an orange juice and a sandwich. The juice came first and in the meantime also Santana with the usual slutty smile on her face.

"I knew that one day you would want to talk to me alone," Santana said in a confident smile, sitting down in front of her colleague.

"It was about time, considering I've touched on various parts of your body."

"Wanky!" Santana smiled and ordered an orange juice.

Santana looked at her expectantly since the little taunts with Brittany used to be brief. Just like private conversations. Although they weren't so close, they knew they could trust each other because of their natural empathy.

"So?" Santana stared. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Mike and I are going to audition in a professional dance company in metropolis." Brittany decided to say in a single breath.

"That's fantastic Britt!" Santana cheered. "When will it be?"

"I still don't know for sure. I think after our open night."

"That's extraordinary. You and Mike are excellent and put anyone in the slipper."

"Maybe..."

"So, what's the matter, Britt Britt?"

"There's my family. I know it's pathetic as a 22 years old who still lives with the parents, but it's my comfort. There's our thing too, you know. Our group. I really like to be a part of that, to be useful and you would already be dead if it wasn't for me... in fact, you need to be more careful, San."

"I'll take more care of myself. Promise."

"That's what you say every time."

"I fight clean, but the others don't. It's not a very fair balance. But, anyway, you like to live with your parents and you like us. Anything else?"

"There's also the theater group that I love. I know It's pretty dysfunctional, that you hate most people... "

"Oh, I don't hate them" Santana interrupted. "It's okay that Finn is a nature miscarriage, Puck is a walking DST, Kurt is the reincarnation of Toto, Dorothy's gay dog, and Rachel is a rattle intolerable. But I accept that about them."

Brittany smiled and shook her head. She wanted to spend more time with Santana and other vigilant colleagues she liked. She always admired Artie and Grant for their intelligence, Matt for his kindness, and thought Mercedes was pure talent. Santana was pure fun. They would meet on Sundays, spend a few hours together and that was it. Sometimes Brittany thought that the time she spent with them wasn't enough.

"Anyway," she said shyly. "There's this thing, but I don't know..."

"Go to this audition." Santana said simply and Brittany's eyes widened in surprise. "I know this is a difficult decision. I don't understand exactly what your priorities are, but I can tell you about mine. I like this city, I love that we find each other, I love learning to develop and control my powers with you all guys, I like the drama group, just do not tell anyone else, okay?" Brittany nodded and smiled. "The question, Britt, is that I don't know what will be of my life. But understand this: in a year and half I will graduate and what will happen after this is a mystery. I'm likely to leave this town, go work elsewhere, after all, I need to earn my money. I know I'll be heartbroken, but we shouldn't let go of the opportunities that life gives us. What I know is that the moorings I have in this town aren't strong enough and, frankly, I can continue to do..." She looked around "…my thing anywhere, alone or not."

"Your self-confidence borders on arrogance."

"It's the truth, Brittany. Say one thing: what are your strongest moorings here besides your family? The group? The Boss? That's a big deal, but is that enough? Is it worth taking the risk of having a career out of here and getting out of that mediocrity?"

"What would make you stay?"

Santana stared at her colleague and thought for a moment.

"It may sound ridiculous," he smiled awkwardly. "But the only reason I could stay and give myself a chance would be if I had someone important next to me. I mean, someone really important. "

"A love?"

"Yeah or mostly a family." She lowered her head and toyed with the juice. "Of course I'd try first to convince that someone to go with me. But if it didn't work out, I would seriously consider staying" then she faced her colleague. "That secret boyfriend you never talk about, but everyone knows that it exists... is he worth it?"

"I... I don't know. I mean, I love him, but things are very complicated. He would never leave this city."

"Have you discussed it with him yet?"

"It's a certainty. There is nothing to discuss."

Santana nodded and finished her juice.

"Do you think Rachel would join you?" Brittany said shyly.

"Rachel?" Santana nearly choked. "Britt, if you have not noticed, I have no relationship with Rachel."

"That's what you keep talking to yourself," Britanny said with a low smile. "Since we met you try to flirt with me, and I even think I'd be treated quite differently from those girls who stay with you."

"Of course I would treat you well. You're special, Britt."

"Even so, you've never looked at me the way you've been looking at her these last few weeks."

"What?" Santana frowned and folded her arms defensively. "I have no feelings for that whale lover."

"Deny all you want, Santana. Here's a tip: it also looks different to her. Rachel is confused, you know? Just like you. But I think you two match." Brittany looked at her cellphone "It's almost time for rehearsal" She took some money from her wallet and paid for their sneak.

Santana was left with the doubt. Brittany used to read people well, like the day they were at an event in campus with a fair and cultural performances in early spring. Artie, Mike, Tina and Mercedes were also there, and they sat down to eat. The dancer pointed to a woman at the next table and said she didn't like her, who seemed to be a bitter person. The friends didn't give a damn, after all, that seemed to be an ordinary woman: middle age, probably married, maybe has a kid, neither thin nor fat, hair tied back. Fifteen minutes later, the girl stars in a huge scolding at the poor waiter who apparently worked there because of a mess of requests. The place was crowded and busy, plus some improvisation on the premises. The "dining industry" was temporary, after all, that would disappear at the end of the festivities. Everything was really confusing and chaotic, so people remarked. But not this woman, who offended the poor boy who worked. The group gave reason to Brittany: it must have been a bitter woman.

On another occasion, after small similarities, Santana asked Brittany if she also read thoughts like Boss. Brittany smiled and said no. She explained that there were people she liked right away at first sight and others she didn't. And those people she didn't like tended to leave her with the hairs on her arms that were shivering. Then she walked away. Santana never touched the subject again and thought that perhaps it would be good to just believe her colleague's intuitions.

…

They were the first to arrive in the theater, beyond the doorman. They entered and waited for the others to sit in the hall where everyone would pass. The first to appear was Puck, who was also nearby, followed by Blaine, Schuester and Emma. Within fifteen minutes, the whole cast came forward. It would be the first time they'd rehearse with set-ups and props. The actors were excited about the results. Quinn set the tone in one of the most dramatic scenes when Puck's character dies in her arms. He also managed to be less fake. Finn, after a lot of cost, was able to hit the solo that had remained to him after the introduction of Blaine, but the action still lacked. At least, it didn't disturb the progress of the play. Kurt still had some difficulties with the dance scenes and Santana faltered on some solo lines that she usually killed first. The play began to lock on "Baby", sung by Brittany, Artie and Mike. But when Rachel curled up with the lines and missed the "I'm starting again" floor, Schuester decided to take a break.

The little diva left the stage without wanting to talk to anyone. The attitude can be interpreted as arrogant and untimely. The fact was that Rachel charged in many ways, especially in the arts. It was shameful for her not to be properly focused.

"Hey." Finn walked over to his girlfriend in the dressing room and hugged her. "You're just tired."

"Am I?" She tried to nestle herself in the body she knew so well.

"Rach, I know you're upset over the deal with the vigilante. I apologize once again for rushing things on, although I still think that guy doesn't need protection or defense. I don't like this approach either. Now what worries me is that it affects you to the point of disrupting one of the things you enjoy the most. Isn't it time to get over it?"

"I think so," she breathed. "Can I have a moment?"

Finn nodded and kissed the girlfriend's forehead before leaving the dressing room. He crossed the path to the stage with some castmates coming and going. Finn didn't even notice that Santana was going his opposite way, just like a few others. It didn't matter to him. But if he knew the identity of the vigilante, he would done something about it. Santana sneaked into Rachel's dressing room. She found her friend sitting on a chair. Santana walked over without a word and leaned against the dressing table.

"Is everything okay?" Santana was genuinely concerned. Rachel didn't do bad rehearsals like that day.

"It's nothing."

"It's something. What I did this time."

"You shot me out again."

"Rachel, I'm really sorry..."

"The consideration you seem to have for me is dazzling," Rachel quipped, and turned her face away.;

"Sorry. I am afraid that you get hurt because of me." Santana took two steps back and lowered her head. "Maybe we'd better restrict our contact to the theater and nothing more..."

"You didn't even call me after that day," Rachel said softly and Santana sighed. "That hurts, Santana."

"It's just that I'm kind of disconnected... I need to keep my routine, I need to keep my grades, and still I searching something huge..." she sighed again. "Sorry, that's no excuse. You save my skin and that's how I repay you... Not to mention that I was really avoiding you. I'm really sorry."

Rachel nodded. She wasn't happy about the excuses, but she appreciated a little honesty.

"Artie knows, doesn't he? About you?"

"What?" Santana frowned.

"That's why you insisted on going to his dorm that night. And that's why he called you and warned you to get away from me. If he didn't know, he would not have cared about such things."

"Could we discuss this at another time and place?" Santana was anxious.

"Does he know?" Rachel insisted intransigently.

"Yes... he knows about me. Satisfied?"

"Who else?"

"Rachel..."

"Do you think it's easy to keep this secret? Besides, I'm involved with you up to my neck and it would be nice to have people I could appeal to about your respect."

"Okay." Santana was still uncomfortable, but the little diva had a point. "Artie and Mercedes are people who know about me. If you're in trouble, and I can't help for some reason, you can contact both. They will know what to do."

"It makes sense" Rachel said quietly. "They're your best friends..."

"There's another guy I trust. His name is Grant Fish."

"Like the Fish Advocacy Co."

"That one. He's a lawyer and her father owns the company."

"Well, now I know you have some rich friends. What about Jenny."

"Like, Jenny my ex?"

"Doesn't look like she's an ex." Rachel was jealous about Jenny and she started to have trouble to hide it.

"Anyway, she doesn't know a thing."

"Why do you still with her?"

"I don't know, Rachel." Santana said irritated. "She's my booty call and maybe I still have feelings for her. But it's none of your business."

"Of course it is… we…"

"We what, Rachel? We kissed, we don't talk about it, and you still with your idiotic boyfriend. So I have the right to be with Jenny as many times as I please."

Someone knocked on the door and Santana caught her breath. Getting caught talking to Rachel in the dressing room would be weird.

"Rachel," it was Kurt's voice. "Honey, let's start over."

"One minute," Rachel replied, and took some water. She left the dressing room without looking at Santana.

The vigilante sighed in defeat. Santana lamented the drama and the complication about her new 'relationship' with Rachel. It was so much easier when they simply ignored each other. He waited a minute or two to leave the dressing room and resume the rehearsals, which continued to stumble. Schuester and Emma dismissed everyone at the end and called for extra rehearsals. There was a race against time.

Rachel took Finn's hand and decided that she should make amends with her boyfriend that night. Ignoring Santana on the way out, she said goodbye to Kurt, Puck, Tina, and Quinn before getting into the truck. She turned on the radio. It was a funk carioca. She hated it with all her heart. She switched from station to station she liked the most.

" _Eu convido todo mundo para a minha festa/ Só convido você porque você não presta..._ " (1)

Rachel heard the song and rolled her eyes. Mallu Magalhães had great production, but she was a mediocre singer. Although she appreciated one thing or another of the artist, she was not in the mood. Her phone rang. Text message.

" _Let's be friends, please._ " - S

"Who was it?" Finn was curious.

"A colleague from the community college. It's about a project."

"Okay." He smiled and kept his eyes on the streets. "We can have a pizza when we get home. What do you think?"

"Making love and then pizza?" Rachel said suggestively. "Sounds like a good idea."

…

Brittany dismissed Mike's ride. Just as she dismissed the offerings of Schuester and Emma. She smiled and waited near the theater building along with the doorman, who was talking about casualties, such as the debate over the name change of the football stadium. A car slowly approached the street. Brittany got up and took leave of the doorman. She got into the vehicle and then kissed the driver's lips.

"I was happy when you wanted to see me. It's been over a week."

"It wasn't an easy week," Martinez replied and continued driving. "My wife thinks I'm going to travel, so let's go to that hotel, all right?"

"Fine." Brittany kissed the man's lips again and smiled.

Brittany knew it was wrong to get involved with a married man 20 years older. But she couldn't help but feel so attracted to him. Martinez rested his hand on his lover's legs and smiled. It was hell, but God knew how much he liked to burn.

…

…

(1) Você Não Presta, by Mallu Magalhães

"I invite everyone to my party / I only don't invite you because you suck..."

Mallu Magalhães appeared to the world (or just Brazil) in an old website called Trama Virtual, created by the indie label Trama. It was kind of mp3 portal for new artists. The most popular ones actually got visibility. Mallu Magalhães was one of these more accessed bands/singers of Trama Virtual, when she was just a 15 years old teenager singing in English. Her hit was a song called 'J1'. Mallu was like a hipster Miley Cyrus. She met Marcelo Camelo (Los Hermanos), 15 years older, when she was only 16 years old and they started dating. In the United States this would be basically illegal, but in Brazil you can do whatever you want with your vagina (or penis) from the age of 14. I think they are the most boring couple of Brazilian music. Anyway, she's now a 25 years old singer with a solid career, a kid and still married with Camelo.

Search Youtube: Mallu Você Não Presta


	14. Love sucks

_Guest:_ _:This fanfic with every chapter is getting better. Kepp going please._

Thank you, guest. It's cool that you're enjoying an uncompromising fanfiction like this. I hope you're looking for the songs. They give the tone of each chapter.

…

…

"Why are you going to call the sitter?" Quinn questioned her boyfriend as she pulled Beth's toys around the room. "Martinez and Holly don't mind us taking Beth."

"I know, but after training I wanted to take you to lunch with some friends I'd like you to meet." Matt insisted.

"Colleagues of your work?"

"No!"

"No?" She raised an eyebrow.

"You'll see." He kissed his girlfriend and smiled.

They waited for the sitter to arrive and Quinn had to resist the charm of her daughter who insisted on going along. Beth liked to go to Martinez's house because of the entertainment options she encountered. It would have to stay another time. In the second lesson she did, Quinn continued the process to gain control of the cooling power. But that morning, Martinez seemed to want to try some more experiments. He placed several objects of different natures and asked her to touch them and try to cool them as much as she could. It was no more than a physical experience. Materials such as wood, metal and glass behaved as expected when subjected to low temperatures.

In another experiment, Martinez asked Quinn to focus on the environment, the surrounding atmosphere, and try to cool down. With much effort on her part, she managed to make the room temperature fall two degrees Celsius. Which was an impressive feat, but she was exhausted and hungry as she had never felt before. Before Matt and Quinn left for lunch, Martinez recommended some exercises. Simple housekeeping tasks so that she had more and more control of her capabilities. The limit she could reach was still far. Martinez didn't say, but Quinn was an open field to be exploited, unlike the other gifted, who were basically close to their main capacity, although they still had much to learn to control. Especially Matt and Santana. The carpenter depended on the emotional state to control power. Santana sometimes found it hard to balance her strength when she was in action. A simple punch from her could kill. The problem is that Martinez lost his interest on Santana.

Matt smiled at his girlfriend, who was exhausted. Quinn believed that practice would make power management easier. She spent years repressing herself and couldn't even want to snap her fingers and make it all right. Learning required a lot of mental and physical effort.

"I don't know who your friends are, but it's a good thing we're going to lunch. I'm dying here." Quinn smiled at her boyfriend.

"Now you understand why my dishes are always big. We spend a lot of energy putting our gifts to work." He started driving.

"Have you used it out of the house yet?"

"Sometimes at work. Sometimes I use my power to pick up heavier wood. Sometimes I use it discreetly to rid colleagues of work-related accidents. They always thank God or fortune for escaping."

"Doesn't that frustrate you? Not being recognized?"

"It's not a matter of recognition, Quinn. Exhibitionism can be costly and disrupt the lives of all of us."

"All of us? Me and you and Martinez?"

"Too."

"Too?"

"You will see."

He silenced himself and left his girlfriend even more curious with the amount of layers of mystery. Of messages between the lines. Quinn was smart. She's always been smart. She felt that there were many more people like her and Matt. She already suspected that this news vigilante might be one of those people because of the countless accounts of the superhuman strength he would have. Where there's smoke there's fire. Quinn trusted Matt, but she couldn't say she was cool about the surprise. She hated surprises. Quinn went through very bad experiences in life to lead the free, light and loose life. No. Quinn was suspicious, withdrawn. It took a lot to gain her trust. Matt endured all of Quinn's initial mistrust and rudeness because he spent a lot of time getting where he wanted: in a relationship with the woman of his dreams. Still, Quinn wasn't in love with him. She was with Matt for being a trustworthy man and because even she had certain needs.

Matt led her to a small, reserved restaurant. It wasn't an elegant place, it required labels, but it was a good food restaurant. Quinn had lived in the city for a few years and had never been there. She didn't even know the existence of that restaurant. But her boyfriend was a patron, apparently. The receptionist smiled at the carpenter and said that the others were already waiting at the usual table.

"Usual table?" Quinn was intrigued.

That was when she noticed family faces at a large table in the backyard. It was the most isolated place. Quinn was surprised to see Artie, Brittany, Santana, Mercedes, and a new face. Matt had said she would like to meet some friends. So what a joke that was.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Fabray." Grant got up. He was always courteous. "My name is Grant Fish."

Quinn smiled and greeted that charming young man. Grant looked older, and he was definitely more refined.

"Nice to meet you Fish."

"Please call me Grant. Being called by my last name gives me the creeps."

"Okay... Grant." Quinn smiled and turned to the others. "I don't think I need to be introduced to you. Or do I need it?"

The boyfriend smiled and pulled out a chair for her to sit on.

"Well..." Matt started off awkwardly. "I wanted you to meet some of my friends in some other way." He sat down next to his girlfriend. "This is our secret club of people who have special gifts."

Quinn looked at her friends once more. Never in a thousand years would she imagine that such normal people could have gifts like hers and Matt's. On the other hand, she also never distrusted the boyfriend, who has known since day three she moved to the city.

"I mean..." Quinn said, words missing. She shook her head in disbelief. "After all this time thinking I was a freak..."

"Now you know there's a lot of other freaks." Santana completed with the characteristic touch of bad mood. "Worse than that: you've been lived with all of them without knowing."

"I prefer the word 'special'" Artie smiled. "It's nice to hear you've joined the gang, Quinn. I would never guess, but I'm happy. "

"Thank you." She smiled sheepishly at her friends, then raised one eyebrow. "What can you do, if I may ask?"

"Santana has superhuman strength, stamina, and speed. Britt can heal wounds, and I can fly. Unfortunately, not like the superman but yes, this is my gift." Quinn looked at Artie with some scepticism and sought confirmation Matt, who nodded.

"What about you two?"

"Grant is a mathematical guy. A very dull power. And I'm just here for the good food." Mercedes smiled.

"You don't have ... gifts?"

"Not like that, my dear, but I can assure you that I have many other gifts."

"Even so."

"She knows our secrets," Grant summed up. "That's basically it."

"Oh, let's do our presentation?" Brittany suggested. "It's a little tradition to show what we can do."

"That's stupid," Santana grunted.

"It's the tradition, Santana." Brittany insisted. It wasn't tradition. It turns out that every time Brittany met another gifted, she demands a demonstration.

Artie was the first. He "got up" from his chair. All very carefully. Someone could appear, no matter how isolated the space was. Quinn smiled. She found it incredible that someone supposedly confined could be the freest person. Brittany picked up a knife and took her friend's hand, which looked at her apprehensively. The cut was small on the tip of the finger, but sore. Quinn tried to pull her hand back, but Brittany held it steady and rested her palm over hers. A small bluish light appeared, as did a discreet heat radiating beneath the skin, and the next moment the cut was gone, but not the sensation of it. A glass began to float on the table. Quinn already knew it was Matt. Santana simply ignored the demonstrations.

"Come on, San," Matt complained. "A little demonstration won't kill you."

"We're not in the field or in the gym."

"Lift the table just a little," Brittany insisted. The table they were in wasn't even that heavy to validate the demonstration.

"That's stupid." Santana sighed and rolled her eyes. She got up, went behind Artie and lifted him with the chair for a few seconds without showing that all was heavy.

"Does it mean that on that day when a solid wooden table cracked in the middle there in the theater it was not because of termite?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow again. She was referring to an episode that happened shortly after joining the theater group. There was a large wooden table on the backstage that toppled. When everyone went to see what had happened because of the crash they heard, they found Santana extremely unsightly and Artie nervous. They were arguing moments ago. Quinn found it so strange and curious that she never forgot the scene again.

"It was a miscalculation of mine." Santana apologized.

"Oh! And did you let Schuester dedetize the entire theater for termites that didn't exist?" Quinn stared in amazement at her boyfriend.

"It was the best excuse I ever had to invent at that moment," Matt explained. "I bet on my credibility as a civil constriction worker."

"What about you?" Quinn waited for Grant to demonstrate.

"My gift is not so fun. I calculate movements and can anticipate them when necessary. It's not really demonstrable."

"I can write a poem for you." Mercedes gave a wan smile. "Now it's your turn, Fabray. Rules are rules."

Quinn waved and grabbed the can of cola that Santana was drinking. She concentrated and felt the already familiar waves running through her body. More and more he liked that feeling. Then she gave the can to Santana.

"Try it."

Santana drank in the super-cold can and smiled.

"Almost frozen coke is my favourite coke. I always knew you were the ice queen, Fabray." She smiled.

"Does anyone else know about you? Are there more people like us?" Quinn asked quietly, apprehensively.

"Holly knows, but I think you know that, too," Artie explained. "And Dr. Camel, who comes to town twice a year to check our health."

"Why?"

"Dr. Camel is an acquaintance of Martinez. Regular clinical exams always present some changes in nodes that can be misinterpreted as indicative of an illness," Matt explained gently. "Dr. Camel knows our specifics."

"How about a little lower body temperature?" Quinn concluded with the question. "If I had known this doctor I might have been spared certain dramas in my teens. My parents crammed me with vitamins and I kept my clothes on even without feeling cold."

"My parents thought I had serious motor coordination problems." Santana smiled. "They made me take swim classes to see if I could learn to coordinate arms and legs and stop breaking things at home. I learned to swim because of it. I even joined the school team and won all the championships I've played."

"Why didn't I hear from you at the Olympics?" Quinn asked.

"Because I left the team for other reasons." Santana's tone made it clear that it wouldn't be good tone if Quinn insisted.

"I did the same, but with karate," Grant said. "In my case, I left the sport when I realized I was naturally cheating."

"I lived with a headache before my gift came up," Matt grumbled. "It wasn't fun. I had horrible crises and I ended up in a coma for a week. When I woke up, I had transformed myself, so to speak."

Quinn made up for the sad memory with a kiss on her boyfriend's face, who smiled. They made the requests and continued to talk about some coincidences. Quinn understood another reason for the restaurant's choice, beyond discretion: the food was plentiful. She was accustomed to Matt's stevedore's plate, but realized the occurrence seemed to be common: Santana, Brittany, and Artie also ate a lot. Grant didn't eat so much because his power didn't require extra energy like the others. Quinn herself became hungrier after she began training and practicing.

It was also very comfortable to know that there were other people like her, better yet to know them. It was liberating to be able to look to the side, see Brittany, Artie, and even Mercedes, even if she didn't have powers, and know that she could open up with them for certain things because they would understand. It was as if loneliness had ended.

...

Not far from here, loneliness was exactly what Rachel felt. Coincidentally, there was a small gathering of old friends, a barbecue in Puck's "backyard," who lived in the city's trailer park. Rachel was a vegetarian. She was sitting in a beach chair pretending to be reading a fashion magazine left by Kurt. Her best friend and Tina had gone out to buy a pot of ice cream for dessert, since the host didn't care about such things. Puck, Finn and Dave were chatting on the edge of the grill with a beer bottle in hand. They talked about cars, sports, the strip club Puck "discovered" out of town. Rachel rolled her eyes with her friend's vulgarity as he talked about the acrobatics women were doing.

"You know, before entering such a place there are some rules and tricks. You have to put a condom on before, you know? To not get a mess. I thought that was an exaggeration, but, my friends, when I paid for a lap dance, I regretted not having put it on." Finn and Dave began to laugh. "It was very sinister. Oh, and there are some girls there that you can pay, you know, to have a full lap dance."

"Full lap dance?" Finn asked. He looked excited.

"With sex. You pay the lap dance and extra 10 for a hand job, 30 for a blow job, 50 for get inside."

"Did you pay."

"For the best hand job I've ever had. Yeah!"

Rachel shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She was disgusted by her boyfriend's excitement at hearing such rude stories. She wondered if Finn had the courage to go to a place of that nature and pay for sex. What if he were? Strangely she couldn't feel angry. Just curiosity.

"We're back." Tina lifted the plastic bag from the market with the ice cream pot and other groceries. "Now we have a reasonable lunch and a dessert. Rachel, will you help us?"

"Of course!"

She was grateful to get away from the boys. Rachel, Kurt and Tina got in the trailer kitchen and began to prepare the lunch consisting of a can of corn, lettuce, baby carrots (everything that exist in the refrigerator). They fixed the food in the most dignified way possible (Puck wasn't a very organized guy) and served the meal.

"So Tina." Rachel pulled the subject over for lunch. "How are things with Mike?"

"Slow," she complained. "The end of the semester is approaching, I have a lot of work in college and we see basically the theater. But I'm not sure he wants to insist on a relationship. Even more with the news."

"What news?" Kurt and Rachel asked at the same time.

"He and Brittany are going to do an audition into one of these metropolis dance companies."

"Good for them," Rachel said bitterly and caught the attention of the other two. "I mean... it's an opportunity, right? You can't blame him."

"I guess so." Tina looked thoughtful. "What if it was with you? What if you had the chance to get out of town to one of those metropolis theater companies that you both dream of? Would you leave Finn?"

Rachel looked at her boyfriend, who was completely oblivious to the other group. He was laughing and gesticulating with Dave and Puck. Rachel thought of how handsome Finn was, as he was a dream to any girl. Something Carole made a point of reminding Rachel whenever she had the chance. But Finn was this: a guy with no ambition for a big city. He was a small city guy, who made the money as a mechanic and had fun assisting the football school team. This was Finn. The guy who was excited about the kids' game would happen sooner, so he wouldn't leave her in the restaurant. It was a noble reason. Would Rachel have the guts to leave a relationship with this guy? With the most decent man in town, in Schuester's words? Then she remembered the kiss on Santana. The one who she felt her lips burn again just thinking about. Guilt corroded her, but Rachel couldn't help wondering how it would like to be with Santana or a girl. Correction: Rachel didn't care about girls. She was mostly gay for Santana.

"Rachel?" Tina snapped her fingers in front of her friend's face. "You went into orbit now," she smiled. "Was the question so difficult?"

"If I had the courage to leave Finn to try life in the metropolis?" She repeated the question and thought briefly. "I couldn't end the love of my life. First I would try to distance relationship. If it didn't work out, I'd make a list of pros and cons between going back to him or my career."

"Really?" Kurt shook his head. "Would you put your career in second place for Finn?"

"You think I wouldn't?"

"Rach, you're the girl that between your dads and Finn, you chose Finn. So I don't doubt anything." Kurt said and ate an olive from the salad.

"I didn't break up with my dads. Not totally. I still talk to them, you know, on the phone. "

"Yes, after two years of total silence."

"People grow up, Kurt. They change."

"You've certainly changed a lot these past months. Since... that... you seem to be more disconnected from the theater, as if you had other things in mind. You even made new friends."

"New friends?" Tina became curious.

"Didn't I tell you?"

"Kurt!" Rachel warned only to be ignored by her best friend.

"That criminal vigilante invaded our apartment while fleeing the police." Kurt recounted anyway.

"Really?" Tina put her hands to her face.

"Apparently Rachel became his little friend after that... assault."

"Do you know who he is?" Tina was excited. She loved good stories and gossip.

"I've never seen his face and only met him on a few occasions. It doesn't mean that I know him." Rachel was getting very good at lying about the identity of the vigilante. Habit made things easier. "Nor does it mean that I don't admire him."

"But he killed that boy," Tina argued.

"Not him. Another person. A real thug. "

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just know. Mercedes believes that too. The vigilante saved her from that case of the invasion at that girl's house. Don't you remember the story? "

"Yeah, I remember. This is so exciting. Just thinking that you saw him in person. Imagine?"

"He's a tough guy." Kurt ran a hand over his still-purple jaw. "Kind of small but strong."

"Shall we change the subject?" Rachel snorted.

"Why?" Tina smiled. "It's so exciting to have one of these in real life. I would give anything to know his identity."

"You never know." Rachel flinched.

She left the trailer and saw her boyfriend with her friends. Finn sipped his beer and then looked at his girlfriend. He gave a half smile and winked at her. Rachel sighed. He was so handsome. A man with many flaws, but who was decent and handsome. Rachel was thinking about how lucky she was for Finn loved her. It was as if she had been lucky enough to find the perfect match still in high school and stay with him. How many people in the world had such luck? Rachel met Finn's smile and smiled back as she sat down in the chair next to the grill. She picked up her cell phone and saw that she had no messages. She accessed to the photo folder. There were many of her with Finn. But there was also a single one with the current cast of amateur theater. Everyone was there except Blaine, who came in last. While Rachel was more centralized alongside Finn and Schuester, Santana was at the right end of the photo hugging Mercedes and Artie. She was smiling and looking to her side so her dimple appeared. Finn also had dimples. Maybe Rachel has thing for dimples. She zoomed in on the photo. It centered on her boyfriend's face. Then she centered on Santana's face.

"Why did you save me?" Rachel murmured.

Rachel thought her life would be easier if the vigilante hadn't saved her. Her trauma wouldn't have been bigger, since the damage was practically done, and Santana would never have gotten into her life like that. Santana would forever be the annoying castmate, and probably the vigilante would be just an irrelevant character to Rachel.

...

No extraordinary events happened in the afternoon. Quinn and Matt returned home and spent the rest of their time playing with Beth before they dated at night. Santana, Artie and Mercedes studied for their respective tests. Finn went to see the boys' game he helped train. Brittany spent the afternoon with Mike since she wouldn't be able to meet Martinez on the sly. She rarely had the weekends with him. Grant had his own agenda. And Rachel went to work.

The little diva, who no longer felt like this, came to the restaurant and changed her clothes. Soon, tables began to be served in the same routine that lived from Tuesday to Sunday. At least she could sing and hear some applause. When she was summoned by the jazz trio, who was performing that Sunday in search of an extra money, Rachel went up to the little old stage and looked at the bar. She smiled when she saw that Finn's promise was fulfilled. She waved to the musicians friends and began:

" _Não vá pensando que determinou/ Sobre o que só o amor pode saber/ só porque disse que não me quer/ não quer dizer que não vá querer/ Pois tudo que se sabe do amor/ É que ele gosta muito de se dar/ E pode aparecer onde ninguém ousaria supor._

 _Só porque disse que de mim não pode gostar/ não quer dizer que não tenha do que duvidar/ pensando bem, pode mesmo chegar a se arrepender/ e pode ser então que seja tarde demais._ _Vai saber?" (1)_

Rachel was applauded which, as usual, was always the highest of the night. She came down from the stage and went to work when she looked once more to her boyfriend in the bar. Finn didn't bother with the message of the song. For Finn, it was just another song.

As always, after the applause, Rachel always carried thicker tips into her pocket. It was the great advantage of working at weekends. Finn waited for her to finish the anxious expedient to make final peace with her girlfriend. He smiled at her and handed her a red rose.

"Want to go somewhere and enjoy the rest of the night?" He suggested.

"I'm a shit and my feet are in tatters. I want to go home."

Going home was almost always a sign that the night would not have sex.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am. Today I need to lay my head on the pillow and sleep. But thank you for fulfilling the promise to come and get me. How was the game, by the way? "

"We lost." Finn shrugged. "But it was close."

Silence reigned between them. When she reached the apartment, Rachel gave her boyfriend a quick kiss and didn't ask him to come upstairs. Something began to break in their relationship and it was her fault. Only hers. She was the one with a boyfriend and thought of someone else. Someone she would risk her neck for.

...

In the distance, watching the couple get into the truck, was Santana. She decided to go to the restaurant to talk to Rachel, but she turned around when she saw Finn there. She sat down at the cafeteria and drank some juice. When she saw the couple leaving together, unaware that she would be around, she thought it best to leave. Rachel hadn't spoken to her in days, when she correctly assumed that Artie "knew" the secret. She shook her head and felt like a complete idiot. Santana went back to the university campus, but not to her dorm itself. She was in another building, one that housed better apartments for more wealthy students. She knocked on door 702. When she was answered, she placed a confident smile on her face, even if it was a lie.

"Hi Jenny."

"Has you come to heal your itch?" The occasional lover wasn't thrilled.

"I came to talk... horizontally... if you want."

"You're a real charm, San." Jenny smiled. "But not today. Not when you decide that it's my turn in your stingy slut carousel."

Jenny closed the door. Santana sighed. Jenny was never proud when it came to a good sex night. Should things be changing, or did she miss the call? Her cell vibrated on the way to her dorm itself. It was a message from Grant.

" _ **I have clues about the professor. Put on the suit and meet me in an hour at my apartment**_ " - Grant.

Santana's heart pounded. It was time for the vigilante to take action.

...

...

(1) Vai Saber, by Adriana Calcanhotto

 _"Don't think that you determined / About what only love can know / just because you said you don't want me / doesn't mean you won't / For everything you know about love / Is that it likes to give itself / may appear where no one would dare to suppose._

 _Just because you said that you can't like me / doesn't mean that you have nothing to doubt / think well, you can even come to regret / and then it may be too late. Who knows?"_

Adriana Calcanhotto is one of the best composers of the MPB from 1990s to 2000s. She isn't a very talented singer, but her songs are great. She is a lesbian and has been married for 30 years with a director of TV shows. When her wife died of cancer, Calcanhotto decided to leave Brazil and now resides in Portugal, where she teaches at a university. Vai Saber (Who knows?) was a composition that Calcanhotto specially made for Marisa Monte, who is one of the best female singers in Brazil nowadays. Marisa and Adriana are close friends. When Marisa was doing her album Universo ao Meu Redor (Universe around me), she asked Adriana to make a song for her. Marisa made a ukulele arrangement played as if it were a cavaquinho (ukulele's "cousin", but it's more acute and used in Brazilian rhythms like samba and choro). This left the samba heavier, depressed, but oddly fine. A few years later, Calcanhotto also recorded the song itself. Her version is more rudimentary and raw in relation to the sonorous sophistication made by Marisa.

Search Youtube: Vai Saber Marisa / Vai Saber Adriana


	15. Team up

Santana checked the GPS again. It was late at night, and vigilante and Grant were near the hotel where Edward Hemon was supposed to be. The illuminated metropolis showed the rich nightlife before the eyes of the two friends. Something that timidly existed in the city. Couples and groups of friends walked the sidewalks and laughed drunkenly. Beggars tried to warm themselves from the icy wind, prostitutes sought to win customers on the streets, especially the well-dressed and with big cars. The police patrolled here and there, robbers approached their victims through the alleys between one skyscraper and another. It was a rich setting for vigilantes. Were there any vigilantes in the metropolis? If the existence of other people with special gifts was sure for them, despite the lack of contact and news, who knows?

"Turn the next corner," Santana instructed Grant.

"What's the name of the hotel?" Grant asked, his eyes glazed on the streets.

"Jobim."

Grant soon saw the rather cheap neon sign of the hotel. It didn't look familiar at all. The Jobim Hotel was just a set of cheap apartments, with nothing special.

"How do we know which name to look for and the room?" Santana asked as Grant parked the car on an isolated and dark street.

"Working on it." Grant stopped and checked some information he had stored on his cell phone. "If my informant is really right, Hemon is registered as Peter Broison. He's on the eighth floor. Room 805. I think it's facing the back."

"If it is..." Santana took the backpack and began to prepare. "Even better". She tested the audio and recording system. It looked in perfect condition. "I think it's all prepared here. We will be able to record everything and produce evidence. Now the problem is how we get there. If Artie were here, he would take us to the window."

"Artie should be with us, but he can't."

Grant had previously explained to Santana why he didn't call the others to participate in the mission because their friends couldn't protect theirselves from the Boss's mind control. Grant had techniques that helped protect his own thoughts and Santana didn 't know how, but she could resist mental interventions when she wanted to. If it weren't so, she would not be able to disobey the Boss every time she wore the vigilante mask. What she lacked were techniques for doing so consciously. But the others didn't have the same resistance. Artie told the Boss about Hemon in two seconds, even when Santana had asked him not to. Mercedes, Brittany and Matt were also like sheep.

It wasn't that Grant thought the Boss was a villain. The point was that there was clearly a conflict of interest in the group. There was a split by Santana's constant disobedience as a vigilante. It caught the attention of a rational guy like Grant and he wanted to find out why.

The two young adults got out of the car still without the mask. They entered the alley and Grant jumped the wall while Santana did the same. They put on the masks: Grant's was ordinary, but Santana's was rigid in the region of the mouth because of the device that altered her voice. Santana wore her usual outfit: dark baggy jeans, a larger black jacket, and heavy, black sneakers, which were almost a cottonwood. It was a costume that made people think the vigilante was really a man. Grant, on the other hand, dressed practically like a ninja. Light clothes that allowed him to perform his precise movements.

Santana looked at the facade of the building and the nearby buildings. She mentally devised a strategy to get to the 8th floor as discreetly as possible.

"We go up the neighbouring building, we go to the roof, we jump and we go down two floors by the stairs."

"Have I told you how much I detest this altered voice, Stud?"

"Shall we use our war names here, Gen?"

"Caution doesn't hurt anyone." Grant looked up. "I won't be able to jump that distance."

"I can give you a push."

"It would be so much easier if the Flying were here ..."

"Talk less and climb more." Santana smiled into the mask.

They began by the fire escape of the building next door. They tried to be as quick as possible. Santana was faster, but Grant had precise, silent movements. They chose the next building for ease of climbing, since the Jobim building had the glass facade. They reached the roof and looked down. The building next door was slightly taller than the Jobim building. In fact, you had to be an Olympic category jumper to get it. Santana nodded for Grant to jump first. He ran and, at the moment of the jump, Santana boosted him. Grant fell badly, but he was safe. He waited for her friend to jump. Santana rushed for momentum and jumped with some ease.

Once in the Jobim building, the two of them took the stairs from the roof to the eighth floor. They arrived at the apartment. Santana wanted to kick the door with a kick, but Grant had better solutions. He had a device with magnetic force that unlocked doors. All she needed was a little patience. The cautious approach proved to be the right one considering that Hemon didn't leave the computer screen when they entered.

"Hello, Hemon," Santana said in a voice that had changed. "Do you remember me?"

The man jumped out of his chair and stared at the invader. The vigilante could feel the shaking. In a movement, Hemon tried to reach something in a bag, but Grant anticipated it and decided to immobilize it in a few movements.

"I've saved you once, Hemon." Santana continued to speak quietly as Grant immobilized the teacher. "I'm not here to hurt you, but to listen to some answers you have not been able to give me before."

"How did you find me?" The man was trembling, almost panicked.

"You should not ask your family to pay your bills on the credit card." Grant released the man, who tried to regain his composure.

"There are terrible things happening in the city and I'm being harshly persecuted. Do I need to know why? "Santana sat on the bed.

"I ... I ... I don't know what you're talking about!"

Hemon was terrified, but Grant, gifted with great Emotional Intelligence, knew how to deal perfectly with the situation. It was not for nothing that he was the person assigned to conduct interrogations when the boss was not around to get the information directly from the person's mind. Or others were not well qualified for it: Matt didn't know how to deal with these things, Santana beat first and asked later, Mercedes interviewed instead of questioning - sometimes lucky - and Artie was great just behind the scenes.

"Let's see," Grant said quietly. "Our friend here saved you from an execution in an alley, you fled the city immediately and came here with the help of your family. You had a strategic position in the city hall and ran out of there. His bank account was suddenly closed, a small fortune of twenty million he managed to put together in just six months. Unless you have made a large application on the stock exchange or something, you are unlikely to have accumulated this in such a short time only with your salary and your assets. Besides, not that there's anything to it, but you're very intimate with Angelina. I don't think it's a coincidence that she got involved in a gang war or that a boy from her project died to put the blame on our friend here."

"Are you in charge of whom?" The man seemed to panic.

"No one, I assure you." Santana got up and approached the professor. "The problem, dear Hemon, is that the police is accusing me of crimes I haven't committed and this leads me to believe that the city hall and the police department are diverting attention to something very dirty that you know perfectly well what it is. Look man... " She gestured gently to gain confidence. "I just want to know why and against whom I should fight, that's all. It's my ass that's involved. Besides, you owe me one. Of course, if you don't want to collaborate, I can pass some information on to some guys about where to find you, and I guarantee you'll be in exactly the place I say."

"What do you need to know?" Hemon said reluctantly.

"I want you to help me connect the dots. Start with your relationship with Angelina and why the mayor wants you dead?"

"Angelina and I... we had an affair" Hemon said uneasily, sitting in the armchair under the watchful eyes of the vigilantes. "Don't judge me. She's a single girl and I'm divorced man."

"No judgments here, sir." Santana held up her hands.

"As I worked on the city's network security, it was not difficult to figure out some money shifts and budget increases in others. Expenditures on public security have increased substantially to the detriment of other areas, such as social welfare. This is in a city with rates of urban violence below the national average. It was intriguing. The help Angelina received for her program was significantly cut. The point is that despite the increase in the paper, in the real, the money destined to the police continued the same of previous years. That's when I realized that part of the budget goes especially to a special security development program that physically doesn't exist. It wasn't difficult to do the math and understand the recipients."

"Corrupt city hall?" Santana said wryly. "It's not new."

"Yes. But I fell headlunched to reveal this to Angelina, on a day when she was particularly upset about the cuts. She took the evidence I took and decided to use it to have her program budget reinstated, plus some additional."

"Your millions," Grant observed.

"I had a percentage of the money she got from the blackmail. Anyway, the mayor lost confidence in me and had plans to eliminate us and get his money back."

"So he paid for three poor amateurs from a rival gang to kill Angelina? Doesn't seem so likely to me. They would have been more professional, like the guys who would have killed you if it had not been for the vigilante. "

"It was to look like a casual gang dispute. Angelina's death would have a commotion and the city hall could justify the alleged increase in public safety."

"Reasonable strategy," Grant conceded.

Those poor kids who've earned 500 to kill are on their way. Trust me. They are moving corpses and the files will be burned at an opportune moment."

"One of them died a week ago," Grant began to connect the dots. "Fight the prison where you were with the other two."

"What I learned in those days of seclusion is that the mayor eliminates people in different ways. It can be subtle in the hands of a professional or to create a favourable situation. Maybe he would have told me to kill me and put the blame on you. I assume I was lucky you were around." Santana nodded. "Thank you, because it was my chance to get away."

"And I'll be targeted just to mess up the dirt?" Santana asked.

"You didn't upset the subject. Not that way. Not from afar. I don't know the scheme completely, but I can assure you that you are more for the puppy that is left behind for the lions to eat and the herd to pass. You are the necessary sacrifice. But exactly where you interfered, I can't explain it to you."

"You told me the mayor knows who I am."

"Partly. He knows what you are."

"So this has nothing to do with the elections?" Grant asked.

"Not necessarily. What I learned in my work at the city hall is that everything can be used as a political maneuver. The end is always the power" Hemon was frustrated.

"One last question." Grant approached the man cautiously. "What do you know about this security program that doesn't exist?"

"Not much. They say it's a special agent development model. My guess is that this is not just a diversion maneuver. There is much more behind. Maybe you're behind it and don't even know."

"Doesn't it have a responsible one?"

"Some ghost. Truman Moore. It is not a person from the city hall or the police department. If you investigate more deeply you may end up discovering that he is a Nobody. I didn't have time to do this investigation. That's all I have to say. Thank you for what you have done for me. Really. But I can't help you more than I told you."

"But you can still help me in other ways, right?" Grant smiled behind the mask. "As a favour one friend lends to another?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Evidences." Grant offered a card with an e-mail address developed by him with a good security system that protects him from tracking. "You may want to and have every right to disappear, but that doesn't mean that you don't want to be unable to take revenge your way. I want to get these guys. It's my motivation. If you want to help me, please let me know. You must have a secure account. I have one too, I assure you."

Without another word, Grant and Santana went to the bedroom window. Santana threw Grant into the fire escape of the neighbouring building. She waited to see if his friend was okay and jumped, which impressed Hemon. The man went to the window and saw no sign of them. They disappeared as if they were a ghost. But if he had looked more closely, they would see that they were still on the stairs waiting for the best opportunity to descend without attention. Grant and Santana returned to the car and thence back to town.

"We can't speak a word about it to others," Grant reinforced.

"I agree. It's better to keep this between us" Santana said as she pulled on her vigilante uniform.

"You need to stay away from the Boss. Don't show up any more to our training."

"Why?" Santana asked.

"Because even a telepath like him would have extracted important information in the conversation he had with Angelina and discovered that she wasn't innocent when she may not be. Either that or Hemon lied blatantly."

"I didn't know you suspected the boss. How long has this been going on?"

"I just want to keep things in perspective here, right? We want the truth, and for the time being, our information and those that have been passed on to us are conflicting. Someone was wrong and somebody lied, so I think it's convenient to keep this between us until we find out more."

Santana agreed with Grant, but she would regret the fact that she couldn't count on the best friends Mercedes and Artie, after all, the two were the greatest supporters of the vigilante. Grant and Santana also felt that there was something wrong with all of Angelina's problems and the boy's murder because of the Chief's lack of commitment to allow the students to do a thorough investigation.

Grant looked to the side and saw the sleeping colleague. He was also very tired and should stop for sleep instead of facing the three-hour trip to the metropolis. But he couldn't simply leave town without an excuse.

Grant Fish is the eldest son of one of the richest families in town. His father founded a law firm that took care of the interests of the great farmers, businessmen and politicians of the city. If there was anyone who could know half of the city's shenanigans, it was Mr. Fish. Grant and his younger sister were heirs to that little monopoly. Grant was being prepared to take over everything, but the more he became involved with the gifted, the more he realized that he hated his father's fate.

Ironically, it was the 20-year-old rebel brat who was sleeping in the passenger seat the person who inspired his most. Santana started patrolling as a vigilante on her own, as if she had a Batman syndrome or something. Grant was amused, the Boss not so much. But as Santana managed to make small victories, Grant was more inspired. He began to visualize a suitable place for drills, a base of operations, a work together, a real team forming in the absence of a boss who only used for specific and unexplained tasks. Grant was a 27-year-old man who always did everything he was told, despite all the intelligence he had. There he saw the possibility of freeing himself and still doing something that he considered noble.

He stood on the road until he saw the lights of the city on the horizon in the dawn light. I could hardly believe that they spent six hours on the road for only an hour of action and investigation. Watchdog life was not easy.

"Hey!" Santana shook. "Hey!" He insisted with more emphasis.

"Um?" Santana opened her eyes suddenly.

"We are almost at home."

Santana rubbed her cheek. She blinked a few times and settled into the car seat. He looked at the lights still mixed with the dawn of the day. He glanced at his watch and grunted.

"What are you going to do now?" Santana asked.

"Sleep."

"Lucky you. I have class in a little while. I still have to study and patrol... "

"You don't have to patrol today."

"Grant, we can't lose track heat. We've made great strides, but we have to fill some holes, to know who that Moore is..."

"I know, that's why I'm going to patrol today and see if I can figure something out. You will rest."

"Are you going to patrol?" Santana smiled. "Oh really?"

"Don't you do it this almost every night? Why wouldn't I? Besides, the city needs protection, you know? You're right when you say that the police have their own priorities and forget the ordinary citizen. But the point is you don't have to do it alone anymore. We will take turns from now on."

"Right now I won't complain or question you. I think it's great. But I don't think the Boss is going to like you running too."

"Leave the Boss with me. I can hide my thoughts well."

"How?"

"I watch porn and keep thinking about it all the time!"

"Oh my God!"

Santana laughed, infecting her friend. They approached the town knowing that the vigilantes were now stronger and closer than ever.

...

Santana was dying to lay her head on the pillow, but she needed to finish the sketches she would have to present for Landscape Design class. She was still wearing the white tank top from the previous night and her baggy pants. When she reached the dormitory, she only had time to go to the bathroom to pee and brush her teeth. She took off his sneakers and changed it into a flip-flop. The heavy jacket was replaced by her old high school jacket. Her hair was caught in a ponytail. Not so far as the sexy and charming Santana Lopez.

"Did you sleep in the gutter last night?"

Santana looked at Jenny. She knew the best thing the ex-girlfriend did to her the night before was to have dismissed her.

"I slept in my car." Santana said a half-truth.

"Ah, yes, I heard that Mercedes debuted her vagina and liked the stick."

"Shut up, Jenny."

The young woman smiled. She ran her hand through her long, wavy brown hair. Santana looked at her ex-girlfriend at that moment and grunted. Why did that girl have to remind young Julia Roberts so much?

"I love it when you have nothing clever to say."

"What do you wanted? You dismissed me and I slept in a car! I am exhausted."

"I wouldn't dismiss you if you respected me, Lopez. You need to learn some lessons."

"Whoever sees you like this even thinks you are a victim of something. Cut the crap, Jenny. You know we just talk well on the bed. You treat me as your cheap property out of it. For the umpteenth time, I don't need this shit."

"Still, you always come back."

"Just because I immensely appreciate your tongue in my vagina. I don't necessarily like you."

"Really Lopez? And who do you like?"

Santana nodded and looked back at the outline in the sketchbook. Santana had an appreciation for Jenny. It turned out that at that moment she was much fonder of someone else, but as for that, she had her hands tied. She had no idea what to do to win Rachel Berry.


	16. The bridge

Santana saw the young woman at the community college building after her boyfriend left her there. She took a deep breath and wished herself luck. She got out of her old car and walked among the other 'failures' who were 'rejected' at university or had no money to get into one. Santana hated this prejudice, but it's what her colleagues from college talks about the ones from community college. She knew it wasn't smart to go there when there was a whole agenda of classes she needed to be. But it would only be one day, right? Besides, she had to solve this problem once and for all. She had no idea what Rachel's room was or who her classmates were. All she saw was people pacing back and forth in a building that resembled quite a compact school. Santana decided to walk down the hallways looking for Rachel and then on the second floor. The signal sounded and there was the usual rush to enter the classroom. Frustrated, she sat down on a couch near the cafeteria and waited.

"Santana?" The voice made the vigilant jump from the sofa. She had barely sat there. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for you," she was embarrassed. She should surprise Rachel, not the other way around.

"Looking for me?"

"I wanted to show you a place." Santana smiled awkwardly and checked her watch. "But now I'm not sure it's going to work."

"Why?"

"My plan was to kidnap you in a more dramatic fashion and take you back in the afternoon. But you totally cut the mood..."

"Yeah? Where my captivity would be."

"I brought a backpack with snacks to hike in the Lispector Natural Park."

"And don't you have classes to go?"

"Yes, I do."

"So?"

"I can do research on sociology another time."

"Sociology? But you do not study architecture and urbanism? "

"Yes, but it is that the architectural pattern of different cities and cultures reveal not only the history but also the local economy. Some have specific meanings, such as Japanese architecture, which is full of symbolism. Sociology is applied in this sense, of how the architect can be a social scholar and tell the story of a city by the constructions it presents... and I just show you my nerd side."

"It's cute. You really like what you study." Rachel smiled.

"I do." A slight flush appeared on the vigilante's face that the diva thought was adorable.

Rachel laughed and felt an urge to kiss Santana in front of everyone, but she couldn't. Not just because of the place, but for all the complications that existed around that relationship. Were they friends? Did they want to be something else? There were some dilemmas going on. Santana checked the time. The park was 50 km outside the city, which meant half an hour's travel at a responsible speed. It wasn't much. People in town liked to go down to the park on weekends for the amount of leisure activities provided within the space for visitation. There was another one destined to the research in which one only had access by means of authorization. It was still possible to hike.

Rachel used to visit the natural park with her dads, but it had been at least three years since she'd stepped a foot in that spot. Finn wasn't a guy who liked activities like that. Kurt much less. But Santana seemed to appreciate it. The vigilante went to the natural park for the first time at the invitation of some colleges from college. Santana liked it there and even made some friendships with the workers, especially one of the administrators. Santana did a small project to restructure the picnic plaza that was accepted. It's nothing great, but it was the first time she had a design planned by her own. She couldn't even sign the plan because she wasn't yet graduated, so a professor signed with her as a supervisor. Santana came to visit the construction twice, but she hadn't yet seen it done. It would be the first time.

"There's only one problem with this kidnapping." Rachel frowned. "It's Tuesday and the park is closed. And I have to work today."

"Let's say I have a free pass and I can bring you back in time."

"Really?"

"Do you want to pay to see?"

Rachel was curious. She took Santana's hand and pulled her out of the community college building. They got in the old car that drive Santana to several places, including to the theater, and still offered a generous ride to Mercedes and Artie. Sometimes for Jenny, although she has a much better car. Rachel would recognize that car anywhere, and it was strange to think that this was the first time she was in it. The car might be old, but the sound of the engine was good. Rachel turned on the radio of the vigilante's car and searched for a good station. She found nothing that pleased her at that moment.

"You can take a look at my iPod. It's in the glove compartment." Santana warned.

Rachel checked the place and found the device jammed with one of the masks Santana wore in patrol work. She decided to leave the subject aside. She checked the setlist of her friend and was surprised by the approach of musical tastes.

"Do you like Adriana Calcanhotto?"

"Of course. She's a great songwriter."

"What about Los Hermanos?"

"It's ok" Santana smiled. "I like some songs."

"And you listen to Criolo!" Rachel was astonished. "Do you like rap?"

"Yes. Racionais MC's, Emicida, Projota. And also BNegão, Nação Zumbi, Curumin, Pato Fu, Garotas Suecas and all the indie crap."

Rachel chose a Pato Fu song.

" _Abra os olhos/Volte a respirar/ Cego para as cores/ volte a enxergar/ leia a minha mente/ não sou de falar/ mas o certo é que andei tão distante que nem sei/ Uh Yeah/ Mesmo à sombra da lua o mundo teima em girar/ Pois a vida flutua enquanto o nosso sol durar/ Uh Yeah/ Sua vida é só sua/ Não se deixe enganar/ Sinto o cheiro da rua/ Encha seus pulmões de ar..."_ _(1)_

"I didn't know you liked them. Mercedes detests and Artie is indifferent."

"I love them!" Rachel looked at the landscape at the window. "It's the kind of band that is rare to find fans. But they are incredible."

Santana just nodded and let herself be carried away by the melodies she loved, grateful for Rachel was enjoying as well. They arrived at the park's administration field, which was almost empty. There were only three more cars out there. Santana, along with Rachel, went to the administration building and talked to Bernard, who greeted her with enthusiasm. Only then they explain to Rachel the reason for the free pass. Their first stop was in the completely refurbished picnic area. Rachel was amazed that the place was more beautiful and harmonious with nature than the old project, which she knew well in the visits with her dads. The fact that it was made by someone close gave a special flavour.

She looked at Santana, who was smiling as she talked to Bernard. They commented on the changes, on the things that worked best, and on things that only got better on paper, but it was all part of the process. Undeniably, that project was superior to the old one. Rachel still felt an edge of envy. Santana hadn't yet graduated and could already be proud to have accomplished projects, not to mention that she was the vigilante, someone who protected the city from criminals, who had special powers. What did Rachel have? The theater and a night in the restaurant to take pride. It seemed so silly and futile.

"Do you want to hike?" Santana suggested after talking to Bernard.

"I'm afraid these shoes are not suitable."

"I wouldn't kidnap you to such a place without some preparation. I have extra sneakers in the car. And I shouldn't wear more than two numbers more than you. "

"My number is 35*." Rachel frowned.

"See? Mine is 36. And there's a more comfortable T-shirt too."

Rachel nodded. They returned to the car and Rachel changed shoes right there, just as she took advantage of the fact that no one was looking to swap her blouse over Santana's cotton Star Wars t-shirt. Santana took her backpack with the snacks and water and went to the authorized trail. They both breathed in the good air, felt a little of the coolness of the closed forest. Rachel was always amazed at how cool the temperature was there. It's always cooler than in the city. They came to a small gazebo and stopped for a moment. It wasn't necessarily romantic, but Santana felt that way. She took Rachel's hand and gently lifted it to her lips. The diva smiled. It was adolescent and silly, but also cute. She adjusted herself against Santana's body and they kissed. The feeling was incredible. They felt energy and electricity against their skin. They allowed themselves to know better their body, their curves, but still not going too far. Everything was still cautious, respectful.

"That was good." Rachel opened her eyes after broke the kiss. She was a little bit airless and slightly blushed for having moaned a little bit during the kiss.

"It was."

"But what does it mean?"

Santana couldn't answer. The silence of the woods, the warm noise, wasn't useful at that moment.

"You confuse my feelings. You can't kiss someone like that, someone who's in a relationship for years and not knowing what you're up to."

"But what do you want?" Santana asked. "You're not the only one confused here, Rachel. One moment you kiss me. And I must point out that it's always you who starts. Then, throw in my face your relationship with that Orca, then you send me a message or call me asking if I'm okay. And when I don't respond, you get irritated and throw you relationship in my face again."

"Is that what you kidnapped me for? To argue in the middle of the forest, so no one would listen to us?"

"I came here to talk and give you a nice day. The problem is that since you found out my secret and my… colleague failed to extract these memories that my life turned upside down. It would be much simpler to ignore you and continue to offend you. But I can't. Not anymore."

"Why don't you just do that? Even if you ignore me or offend me, I would keep your secret, Santana. I wouldn't betray you that way. How many times do I need to repeat that?"

"The problem is that I like you," Santana snarled. "And that's a pain in my ass. Honestly, Rachel. You're a pain in the ass" Santana repeated louder. "You get my attention. And I stand here in the midst of this whirlwind of feelings and responsibilities. It's not easy to manage. It is not easy to like you and not to be able to because it would not be reasonable of me. Just as it is not easy to keep you away when you get more and more involved. It's not easy to hide you from the other guys like me when you are into my life more and more."

That caught Rachel's attention.

"Hide from the others like you? Aren't they all like you? Good people?"

"That's not what I mean…" Santana was frustrated and hit her own leg. "What I do is not endorsed by the guy who commands and trains us. But knowing that I can help and save lives... This makes me feel good. But the Boss... he has a mental power, you know?"

"He's the one who tried to extracts my memories..."

"Indeed. I'm not very good at hiding my thoughts, Rachel, and I'm afraid of what he might do to you if you read my mind and think that you're a threat. Or worse: what if he wants to know why he couldn't erase your memories?"

"This boss..."

"It's a guy who protects the group. Our identities. But he has issues. You see?"

"Looks like you're afraid of him."

"I know the pain of a psychic attack. What it feels like to feel the brain burn."

"Has he done this to you?"

"Once, at the beginning of training. I was kind of a rebel and it was a way for him to show who was the boss. I stayed out of space all day with a terrible headache."

"Do you still disobey?"

"I'm doing worse. I can't tell you."

"You are unbelievable!"

"Basically." Santana smiled weakly.

"I didn't know there were all these problems."

"Do you understand why our situation is so complicated at all levels?"

"Yet you would be willing to take a chance."

"Yes, if you were willing too. But I see you're not."

Rachel nodded and took Santana's hand.

"What about us?" Rachel asked.

"If you don't know what you want, I think we'll have to break up… relationship, friendship, everything. I don't know if I can be just your friend, Rachel. I will fulfill my commitment to the play and then I completely leave your life. For good."

"I think you're right," Rachel sighed.

"I think so…"

An uncomfortable silence hung over them. Santana wanted to hug Rachel and comforting her when she saw her sad and confused. But Santana restrained herself. She turned her back to Rachel and enjoyed the view of the preserved forest. It was possible to hear the noise of the waterfall that was in the place without public access. It's a beautiful place. The waterfall forms a small lagoon in which one can swim. Santana wished to go there to cool her head, but she couldn't leave Rachel alone, and it would be irresponsible to take her to the waterfall without Bernard permission.

"Are you hungry?" Santana asked.

"Not at all."

"Still we should eat a little. It's past noon and you need to work."

Santana opened the backpack and picked up the sandwiches and water inside the thermos bag. They ate in silence, drank the water, and collected the garbage. They did the rest of the course in silence. Rachel and Santana were busy trying to process feelings and dangers. Stay away from Santana wouldn't be as easy as Rachel had foreseen, but that was what they needed to try for their sake.

Santana said goodbye to Bernard and a few more of the staff before leaving the park and returning to the city. The administrator also said that there was a project to renovate the locker rooms and the construction of the new bathroom and water tanks for visitors, which she should be competing with a project. Santana thanked the tip and promised to think of something interesting.

"You should think about running for it, Santana. The picnic area was really beautiful." Rachel said when they got in the old car.

"They modified some details of my project, but it was really cool."

"I didn't know you could sign things like that already."

"I can't. Not alone. Yet. A professor of mine signed it as supervisor."

Rachel nodded and re-investigated the Vigilante's iPod music selection. She chose some songs and sang some of them.

" _Eu não me vejo na palavra/ Fêmea: alvo de caça/ Conformada vítima/ Prefiro queimar o mapa/ Traçar de novo a estrada/ Ver cores nas cinzas/ e a vida reinventar/ E um homem não me define/ minha casa não me define/ minha carne não me define/ eu sou meu próprio lar..._ " (2)

It was lovely and it didn't help Santana at all about controlling her feelings. The road was quiet until they reached one of the entrances to the city on the side of the river that bordered the county. Santana heard a nearby siren and looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes widened when he saw that there was a car behind sewing the traffic with the vehicles in pursuit. She tossed the car to the side in an abrupt action, almost crashing into a car behind her and saw the chased one pass through it like a jet. They entered the bridge, the chased entered temporarily, and that's when it happened. Some cars crashed badly. It all happened very quickly, but when Santana tried to understand the result of what she and Rachel witnessed, she realized that a truck was hanging on the bridge in the fall.

Her heart raced and she acted on instinct. Rachel screamed something she didn't understand and didn't even care at that point. She leaned over, took a mask from the glove compartment and put it on. Santana got out of the car and fired in the direction of a pick-up. She ran as fast as she could and arrived just in time as the vehicle would tumble down the river. Until then, she hadn't imagined that she had such strength. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Santana didn't care either. The important thing is that she was able to hold the vehicle that was upright. But it was too heavy and she didn't know how long she would take. There were people inside, she didn't know who, she couldn't speak. Too heavy!

"You in there!" Someone shouted. The vigilante looked away. It was a man. "Get out of the car now!" The man went to the edge of the bridge, since the parapet was gone and shouted at the two passengers in the pick-up.

"My son passed out and is bleeding!" A male voice came out from the truck. There was a brief panic among those present, while the vigilante could only bear the weight of the car.

"Are you all right?" Another voice came. Rachel.

Santana shook her head and cried out for the effort she was making.

"Whatever. Get out of the car now!" Rachel shouted to the men inside the truck.

"Somebody take a rope." Someone else shouted. "We need a rope!"

"I can't leave my son." The man shouted out the window at the same time. Everything was confusing, there was a lot of excitement around. There were people wounded in the other carts beaten.

"Leave now that we take care of him." Rachel stirred. "Does anyone have a rope?"

It was difficult to find coherence amid the chaos. There were multiple car beats on the bridge and other people were injured.

"There's a rope here!" A slender man shouted. "I'm a firefighter and I'm going to get the guy out."

"We need another one to help the vigilante hold the car" Another man approached.

"You arrange something or somebody to help her. But now I can only get those guys out" the firefighter started working with what he had and looked at the vigilante (now that it was obvious that it was a woman. "I don't know how strong you are, but I can see you're extraordinary and you can do it. So hold on, for God's sake."

Santana let out another scream and the firefighter tried to work even faster. Another man, a strong trunk driver, approached the vigilante and tried to find some way to help holding the pick-up. Santana was holding by the tow bar and there was no way the man could help her with strength without making things worse. So he decided to stay by her side.

"You can do it, girl, I would put the chain that's in my truck to try to hold the car, but this is a mess and I can't bring my truck over here, so I'll stay here by your side.

The firefighter first tossed the rope on the side of the man who was well and asked him to tie his waist and climb the car as best he could. The man, who must have been in his 40s, opened the windows of the car and did exactly what was requested. He climbed clumsily the vehicle with his hands firmly on the rope until he was able to reach the hand of the people on the bridge that mobilized to help pull him up. He grated one knee in the process. Then the firefighter quickly tied the rope around his waist with skillful hands. He looked at the masked woman who held the vehicle heroically. She knew that the way the vigilante was sweating, clenching her teeth and screaming, she couldn't stand it much longer.

"Hold on just a little longer, girl." He glanced quickly at the trembling vigilante, dripping with sweat. Santana's muscles burned and the sensation was almost unbearable.

The firefighter went down quickly, for the time was short, and he entered through the open door. The man's son was unconscious and bloody. He was just a teenager. The firefighter had some difficulty taking off his seat belt. But as soon as he did, he wasted no time: he held on tight and pulled him out. There was no time for care and delicacy. As soon as the two were hanging by the rope, the vigilante still held for a few more seconds until she was sure the vehicle wouldn't hit the men. Then she relaxed and the car plummeted 30 meters high until it hit the running water. As one group pulled the salvage firefighter and the victim fainted upward, the vigilante felt her body falter, her legs no longer responding, and she fell to her knees. The truck driver hold her in his arms as he promised. The vigilante's hands were flayed, bleeding. Her arms didn't respond. Her body was covered with sweat to the point of wetting her tank top completely. People crowded around the vigilante. Most amazed at the fact that it is a woman. Her breasts and body in the tight jeans and tank top left no doubt.

"Who is she?" Asked a lady as the police sirens were nearby. "Let's see who she is!"

"Nobody touches her," Rachel shouted. "After what she did here? Respect her identity!"

"We might even respect it," a man approached. "But the police won't."

The policeofficers were already there, with their weapons in hand, there was rumblings, arguments, the firefighter attended the bloody man, there were other people injured. Rachel argues with someone that was filming everything with his cell phone. There was too much information for the vigilante. Despite her weak body, she knew she couldn't stay there. It was when Santana got up with some difficulty and threw herself off the bridge to everyone's astonishment. The crowd and Rachel looked down. Everyone was perplexed. The police arrived asking questions that no one was willing to answer. Rachel, sneaky, took advantage of people dispersing intimidated by the clumsiness of the agents and left the scene. She ran to Santana's car almost thrown on the shoulder, as well as a few others. Everything was still inside: her purse, Santana's documents, cell phones, objects, and the keys in the ignition. Rachel wasted no time. She started the car and turned around the avenue, practically running away and taking evidence with her.

…

Santana let herself be carried away by the river and tried her best to not drown. Nature itself seemed to be helping her, and her body clutched at the gills of a tree. Santana, who was already without the mask and without one of the pair of sneakers, remained stuck in the galls, but her head was up and she could still breathe. She just did not know how long she could withstand without the necessary strength to cling to the galls and stay safe on the bank. Santana fought not to faint. She got up an arm and never saw her shaking so much. It has never been so difficult. But she managed to reach the bank with the help of the galls. When he felt half his body out of the water, she passed out.

…

The bridge was in a racket. There were police officers doing skills and collecting testimonials from people who had been present. Nor did the fact that the person who caused the whole accident escaped seemed relevant to the police. Everyone wanted to know about the vigilante. That was also Grant's interest. He was near the north exit of the city, which was a noble area, when he witnessed the confusion from the top of the building where was the apartment of the married woman with whom he was trying a case basically to annoy his own father. He pulled on his suit and immediately went toward the bridge. Arriving there, he heard confused reports about the vigilante having held a pickup truck long enough for two people to be saved.

"The vigilante is a woman. Did you know that?" One of the man said in amazement to Grant. "A woman! This world is really over!"

All Grant knew was that Santana was in trouble and that he needed to find her before anyone else did. He drove his Audi TT Coupé along the streets that came closer to the banks of the river. That was basically the end of town. The downtown was upstream. Down the river was where farms, plantations, and the natural park would begin. Grant left the car at the end of the road and made his way to the bank on foot, not caring if the damp earth and the grass were soaking the clean shoes and trousers of the expensive suit.

He scanned the river, then quickly surveyed the map of it. The river made a sharp ridge 200 meters away and was the place with the best chance of a body being thrown on the sidelines. Grant descended the steep cliff and descended another hundred yards down the riverbed. That's where he found her. Santana had her face turned up, half her body out of the water and she was out of breath. He knelt beside her in the mud. Checked all the vital signs. Santana was breathing very badly, as if she were choking. He turned her aside and slapped her back. Santana spat out water. She opened her eyes, but wasn't aware of what was happening.

"Santana! Santana!" Grant tapped lightly on her face.

"Hum..." She was still confused.

"Santana! Do you know who I am?"

"Gran…" She didn't complete the word. Santana needed to vomit the river's water that was in her stomach.

"That's enough."

Grant took Santana in his arms. If it were the other way round, Santana would carry him without much effort. He didn't have the strength of his colleague and, with great difficulty, Grant managed to get her into his luxury car. Santana was covered in mud, just like him, but that wasn't important. Grant needed to take care of that situation, take care of his friend. The more she was resistant (a normal person would probably have died), yet she needed a hospital, and there was only one hospital he could look for. He drove the car to the best dance school in town. It caught the receptionist's attention by a handsome young man in a muddy suit.

"I need to talk to Brittany Pierce."

"She's in class now."

"Thank you."

Grant entered the school without authorization and searched the three dance studios that made up the school. He found Brittany rehearsing a choreography in one of the classes. The class stopped at the sight of the young man in a completely dirty suit. He was dishevelled and breathless.

"Britt, it's an emergency!"

Brittany didn't hesitate a second. They rushed out of the school toward an empty parking lot, where he had left the car and Santana.

"What happened?" Brittany asked as she peered quickly into her wet and filthy clothes.

"Apparently she held a car on the bridge at the exit north of the city."

"The high bridge?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus Christ! Why?"

"The story is too confusing to explain, Britt. I don't even know the details yet. I just know she needs your help."

"Right…"

Brittany tried to hold Santana's legs.

"Help me get her out of the car and throw her down."

Grant obeyed. It was the easy part. Brittany knelt beside Santana and smiled at Grant.

"If you can get me some water."

"Yes."

As Grant trailed behind a bottle of water for Brittany, she quickly analysed the watchman's condition. At least she was breathing, and it was a sign that everything would be all right. Brittany closed her eyes and concentrated. Then, slowly, she ran her hands all over Santana's body, starting from her head to her feet. Her friend hadn't broken anything, but the exertion she had made fatigued all her muscles. Brittany stopped her hands for a few minutes at the height of Santana's heart. She felt that with the effort, her friend might have a heart attack, but this healing intervention would prevent it. At last, Brittany was exhausted and thirsty. On the other hand, Santana was awake and apparently well, though a bit confused.

"Britt?" Santana asked. "Where am I?"

"On an empty parking lot. What did you do?"

"I hold a pickup truck for countless minutes."

"Why?"

"There was this ugly accident on the bridge ... I don't know exactly how, but I arrived just in time to not let the pickup fall off the bridge with people inside. That's it. And then... I fell into the river. That part is a bit confusing."

Santana reached into her pocket. Her muscles were aching like never before. She didn't find the phone. She wasn't sure if she'd left it in the car or lost it in the river. Grant came back with a bottle of mineral water. He offered the bottle to Brittany and then smiled at her friends.

"Look like you did a good job, Britt."

"Thank you for that one." Santana sat up with Grant and Brittany's help. "It's hard to find any part of my body that you haven't fixed yet."

"True" Brittany smiled. "What now? Should we call Boss or Martinez?"

"No, please, don't!" Grant asked.

"Why not?"

"They will end up knowing in the news, or in social networks." Grant said.

"Okay?" Brittany was unsure.

"Santana… we need to go."

Santana nodded. She got help again to get up and get into her friend's car. But not before she gave an affectionate kiss of gratitude to Brittany's lips.

"Thank you!" Santana smiled shyly as she sat in the passenger seat.

"You're welcome."

Grant started the car and drove slowly at first, trying to give Santana more time.

"Where are you want to go?"

"My place, please."

Grant nodded and sped up. He had some things to say to her friend about a detail or two he discovered about the investigations they did. But everything could be for later.

"Do you want to talk?"

"Not really."

"Do you want to turn on the radio?"

"The way is not so long."

"So, you hold a pickup truck?"

"Yeah."

"Nice." Grant smiled. "Boss will kick you out of the group."

"It doesn't matter anymore. I kicked myself out a long time ago."

"True. You know what? I'm doing the same."

"Really?"

"Yeah. The other guys might be doing good stuffs, but we are the vigilantes, right?"

"Right!" Santana smiled. She as glad not just for the support, but to have another friend as integral part of this fight.

Grant drove her to the university campus, and parked in front of the dorm building.

"Can you walk?"

"I can, thanks to Brittany."

"But do you want some help?"

"No need, Gen. You're already my saviour." Santana kissed his friend's cheek and got out of the car.

She walked barefoot in her damp clothes, her messy hair, her body still shaking. She stopped at the door and only then remembered that the keys were in the car. Mercedes probably would not be back so soon. She knocked her head on the door and called herself stupid. She was surprised when the door opened. Rachel was inside.

"Thank God!" She took Santana's arm and pulled her inside.

Rachel quickly closed the door and gave the vigilante a long hug. Santana let her body soften once more and Rachel found it difficult to support her. With some effort, she put Santana to bed, no matter how dirty her clothes were. The vigilante began to weep copiously and all Rachel could do was lie down beside her and hold her in comfort. She waited until Santana calmed down.

"What happened?" Rachel asked, whispering in Santana's ear. "And what took you so long?"

"I was rescued by my colleagues, by Grant. I almost die, Rachel… again." She wiped the tears from her face. "What happened to you?"

"The police arrived, but before they started to approach people to ask questions, I escaped. I got your car and I left. I decided it would be best to wait for your news here."

"Good thinking."

"What you did... was incredible, San."

"It was stupid. If I had failed, I would have killed those guys, and the police along with the press would not hesitate for a second to want my head. I would probably have my death sentence signed in court."

"But you hold that car and saved those guys. Everybody saw it!"

Santana began to cry again until she was silent. When Rachel realized, Santana was sleeping in her arms. Rachel continued to hug her and only released her when she heard the sound of keys at the door and sat up in bed on alert. Her heart pounded.

"Berry?" Mercedes entered, followed by Artie. "I'm glad you're here."

"What?"

"Didn't you see? There's a video on the internet showing what Santana did, but her face doesn't show up, you know? Your face is there, girl. They show you fighting for the vigilante. You're famous, and we need to think about something." Artie said.

"But I was there just like a lot of people! And what about the big guy who hold Santana?"

"This is still suspect. We need to think about something." Artie said.

"Wait… did you know that I know about…"

"We connected the dots, Berry!" Mercedes shrugged. "Come on, help me out here with Santana. She needs to take a shower and go to the theater. And so did you. We can't leave any clue that Santana is the vigilante." She leaned over the sleepy vigilante and patted her face." San! San! Let's go Girl. You have to stand."

Santana woke up. She was groggy, sore, limp.

"Give me some water." Rachel asked.

Artie took a small bottle from the small refrigerator. Rachel, who was still sitting on the bed, made Santana drink a little. She barely realized she was dead with thirst.

"God" Santana whispered. "I need to rest ..."

"You can't. Not now!" Mercedes said urgently. "Come on, I'll help you take a shower and you, Rachel, need to go home. And when the police call you in to testify, because it going to happen, you won't say a word."

"Why?"

"They can't force you to produce evidence against yourself. So you have the constitutional right not to say a word. You were on the bridge, but you didn't commit any crime. Yet you don't have to say a word about it."

"Isn't that going to sound suspicious?"

"Or we come up with a story that's going to have a lot of holes or it's going to look so perfect that the police are going to be suspicious." Mercedes explained. "Trust me. I've followed enough police cases to know these things."

"But…"

"I'll take care of Santana, Berry. Now go to your home" Mercedes said urgently. "Oh, and don't talk to anyone in the press if they approached you. The exclusive one will be for me."

"My stuff is in Santana's car," she said wistfully.

"I'll go there with you," Artie said.

Rachel went down the elevator with her castmate. It was a nervous, strange, and certainly dangerous situation. But she couldn't help but feel an irresponsible excitement, adrenaline racing through her body. She picked up her things, then she took the path to the city park and went home.

…

Rachel still had the adrenaline rush for the day's events. If someone said that a simple walk would end in a police case, Rachel wouldn't leave the bed. But it seemed like it would always be like this, every time she was near Santana Lopez/vigilante. Worst of all is that she liked it. There was a side of her that asked for it, for danger, for adventure. There was one side of her that felt like living with that intensity and, at the end of the day, having sex. Sex with passion, with horny. And when she imagined it to happen, it was never with Finn.

She didn't want to admit it, but even hugging Santana while she cried was as if Rachel was doing great. And she felt light. There was a tragedy on the bridge, people were injured, but she was feeling light and excited. And what did that mean for her own life? When she got home and ran into Kurt, Finn, Tina and Puck waiting for her as if they were about to make an intervention, a few answers surfaced.

"Where have you been?" Finn asked with small, wide eyes, almost shaking her.

"With a friend."

"Rachel, the video is everywhere. You were on the bridge with that vigilante." Puck tried to say more calmly.

"That vigilante saved two people today. And your issue is that I was there?"

"When you should be at the college, YES!" Finn screamed.

"I don't need this. I am an adult, of legal age and paid my own bills. I don't need to give satisfaction to any of you." Rachel tried to go to her room, but she was blocked by her boyfriend.

"Not this time, Rachel!"

"Rachel... "Kurt tried to ponder." This vigilante is trouble. This guy... I mean... This girl is wanted by the police. And you have a habit of always being with her."

"Do you know her?" Tina asked.

"Yes, I do." Rachel raged. "She is my friend."

"Why? How?" Tina was confused. The only friend Rachel had besides her was... Quinn? She began to make correlations.

"I was being raped and she saved me. That's why and that's how."

This was a part of the story that Tina and Puck didn't know. The known version was that the vigilante saved Rachel from an assault, not from a rape. The information shocked them both. Tina especially.

"Rape?" Tina was heartbroken.

"Yes Tina. I was raped by a guy called Howard Battes! He just didn't have an intercourse sex because the vigilante came in time to stop him. But she was also late, because Battes had already touched me. Now, you all know the truth. If you excuse-me, I need to have a shower and you're blocking me." Rachel pushed Finn way through the door and closed the bedroom door.

Rachel locked herself in the shower and started to cry. Speaking of what happened, even in a moment of anger like that, it was too painful. Her eyes began to burn in such a way that she couldn't open them for a while. Rachel attributed the painful sensation to the dust, but if she had looked in the mirror she would see that the iris in her eyes was red.

…

Finn, Rachel, and Kurt didn't exchange a word on the way to the theater. Rachel was too lazy to check her cell phone. Since the viral video was launched on the internet, there were dozens of links and messages on her cell phone, including from Hiram and Leroy. Rachel has never been so popular. When they arrived at the theater, there was a certain commotion on the part of Schuester and Emma. Rachel quickly said she was fine and didn't want to talk about it.

Artie, Mercedes and a dejected Santana arrived at the theater and Rachel suppressed the will to embrace the vigilante.

"My god, you're awful. Did you drink all over the day, Santana?" Puck provoked her.

"I don't know, Puckerman. Did you?" She replied with her usual mischief.

"You should relax more, girl. You are always tense. I have a very good remedy to ease the tension if you ever get tired of fingers and tongues."

"Get the fuck off, Puckerman!" Mercedes shouted.

"No need, Cedes. It's because of men like you that I thank God for being a lesbian."

Santana struggled to walk normally. She went down the ramp to the dressing rooms and sat down heavily in the old armchair. As much as Mercedes had some reason to make her go to the theater so that no suspicions against her could be raised, the truth was that she was in no condition to rehearse. She needed at least 12 hours of sleep to recover. Santana looked down at her own hands that had been skinned before Brittany had healed them. But Santana was still in a lot of pain to the point of having trouble opening and closing them. So much so that Mercedes drove her car.

"There is no mood to rehearse." Rachel walked into the dressing room. "How are you doing?"

"Fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Rachel, we talked about it."

"I don't care anymore."

"You should. Especially now. Mercedes is right. It's not just the police that will ask you questions. Many other people will, too. The further we are..."

"Rachel?" Quinn burst into the dressing room and was surprised by the tense look between Rachel and Santana. Nobody had to tell her anything. Quinn was smart and knew how to connect the dots. She knew Santana was strong and saw the video of the bridge, like everyone else in the world. "Rachel, Schuester is calling for you. Looks like he wants to go through all your scenes."

"Okay."

Quinn waited until Rachel came out of the dressing room and hurried to Santana.

"How are you?"

"Dying."

"Can I ask you a question and get a straight answer?"

"Of course."

"Matt is involved in these things you do?"

"No."

"If you were discovered, what would you say about the rest of us?"

"No."

"Rachel knows who you are?"

"Yes."

"You shouldn't involve her."

"I try not to do that."

"Got it." Quinn sat down in the other chair in the dressing room. "I don't know if I approve of what you do, Santana, but it's still moving."

"Thank you, Fabray."

Although the rehearsal of that night was disastrous, Schuester insisted on continuing because of the deadline. It was a relief for the whole cast as they did the last scene. Blaine jump and everybody party when he sang the last song of the show.

" _Toda essa gente se engana/ ou então finge que não vê que eu nasci para ser o superbacana/ eu nasci para ser o superbacana/ superbacana, superbacana, superbacana/ super-homem, superflit supervinc, superist, superbacana/ estilhaços sobre Copacabana/ o mundo em Copacabana/ tudo em Copacabana, Copacabana._ " (3)

It was the final carnaval for a tense play about a student struggling about ideologies. Blaine's character, who came up in an adaptation of the original played by Finn, was a young man who started acting in the student movement because he fell in love with Rachel Berry's character and ends up becoming the leader of an engaged group. In the original script, his character ends with the girl. In the second version, Rachel breaks the protagonist's heart by deciding to stay with her boyfriend. Any resemblance to the vigilante's story was mere coincidence. Blaine's performance was superb and there were rumours that a representative of a university would watch the play as part of the prodigal's acceptance process.

But after the carnaval always came Ash Wednesday. It was more or less the atmosphere of those present as they staged the play and arranged to return to their respective homes. Matt hugged Quinn, who held Beth's hand and the three of them left as a young family. Matt avoided facing Santana or talking to her. Santana didn't want to talk about it, either. Each group said goodbye, but didn't talk to each other. It was as if such groups were strangers to one another.

...

"Now that we're alone, I need to know why you didn't answer my phone calls," Finn said inquisitively. "Was you with her by any chance?"

"No. I just saw her on the bridge, I told you."

"Why can't I believe it?"

"I'm not asking you to believe me. Just trust me. Can you do that?" Rachel asked indignantly.

"No, Rachel, you can't. Not when there is a big event in which people are talking about it all the time and all of a sudden a colleague from the workshop says that he saw my girlfriend in one of the videos posted on the internet right at the time of the accident next to the vigilante that now everyone knows to be a girl!" Finn bellowed the last part of the sentence more like an outburst than to intimidate the girlfriend.

Finn stopped the car three blocks from Rachel and Kurt's house. He took a deep breath and tried to let some rationality into the jealous mind.

"What happened, Rach?" He tried to say even more calmly, though he was still shaking with excitement. "Please, explain. I deserve to know."

"Finn, I have nothing to say."

"Are you in love with this vigilante? This guy or girl… I don't know… do you?"

"I love you. Only you."

In silence, Finn turned the car on again and walked the remaining few blocks. Rachel was dropped off at the porch of the building. The two parted without kisses or goodnight wishes. Finn waited for his girlfriend to come in and then started the pickup truck. He was frustrated, sad. He blamed the vigilante. The genre didn't matter. What he understood was that after Rachel was saved, she got lost. Frustrated, he stopped the car in front of a bar. He was determined to drink as much as he could.

…

"Hi Santana."

Jenny surprised Santana, Mercedes, and Artie as they were walking toward the elevator of the building.

"Jenny, what are you doing here?" Santana asked.

"I came to see you. I came to talk to you."

Santana sighed. She signalled to her friends that she would come up later. Jenny led Santana to her car that was parked in front of the dorms. Santana didn't want to face her ex-girlfriend. She just wanted to sleep and rest, but people seemed like they were not willing to leave.

"What you want?"

"How long have you been a vigilante?" Jenny fired.

"What, are you crazy?"

"Your face might have been covered and that guy basically filmed your back, but I know your mole on the right shoulder better than anybody else. I've kissed this mole thousand times already, and you were dressed in the tank top I gave you on your birthday."

"You're high."

"No honey, I'm right."

"What do want?"

"Make amends."

…

…

*Brazilian numbering of shoes. 35 in Brazil corresponds to the number 6.5 in the US and 37.5 in Europe.

(1) Cego Para as Cores, by Pato Fu (John Ulhoa)

"Open your eyes / breathe again / blind to the colours / see again / read my mind / I'm not talking / but the truth is that I walked so far that I don't know / Uh Yeah/ Even in the shadow of the moon the world keeps spinning / because life floats while our sun lasts / Uh Yeah / Your life is only yours / Don't be fooled / Smell the street / Fill your lungs with air..."

Pato Fu is a band from the 1990s who has a solid career spanning more than 25 years. They have some interesting policies that make the band stay active and always release new albums for all this time. For example, all members are free to work solo projects as long as they respect the band scheduling and so on. The vocalist Fernanda Takai has a solo career that is bigger than Pato Fu's nowadays, and even she respects such a rule. Rachel says in this fanfic that it is difficult to find fans of this band. It is a reference on the Pato Fu to be considered "the smaller band of the mainstream and the greater band of the indie". They stand comfortably at this threshold. Pato Fu was once considered one of the 10 best non-American bands by Times magazine in 1999 alongside Radiohead and U2. In fact it's the best band that few people have ever heard.

Search Youtube: Pato Fu Cego

(2) Triste, Louca ou Má, by Francisco, el hombre

"I don't see myself in the word / Female: hunting target / Conformed victim / I prefer to burn the map / Trace the road again / See colours in the ashes / and life reinvent / And a man doesn't define me / my house doesn't define me / my flesh doesn't define me / I am my own home..."

Francisco, El Hombre is a new band, formed by two Mexican brothers naturalized Brazilians and three Brazilians. They gained notoriety when the song 'Triste, Louca ou Má' was nominated for a 2017's Latin Grammy for best song in Portuguese.

Search Youtube: Triste Louca Ma

(3) Superbacana, by Caetano Veloso

 _"All these people are mistaken / or else pretend that I didn't born to be the superbacana / I was born to be the superbacana / superbacana, superbacana, superbacana / superman, superflit supervinc, superista, superacca / splinters on Copacabana / the world in Copacabana / all in Copacabana, Copacabana."_

Music from Caetano's first album. It's considered as the music that best expresses the Tropicália.

Search Youtube: Superbacana


	17. Don't say anything

Matt grunted at the TV News. The city was in a rage with the vigilante's action. Commentators talked about crazy theories about the legality of whether or not there is a justice, the possibility of more than one, and especially as a woman apparently six feet and up to 50kg could stand alone a car weighing 1.9 tons per little more than fifteen minutes? This has raised the hypothesis of conspiracy theories of the government sustaining a secret program of super-soldiers in progress, existence of mutants and even aliens. The crowd applauded the vigilante's intervention in the accident and many people already claim that there are two vigilantes in town: a good one (who would be the girl) and a bad one (who would be a man).

" _It all happened so fast. There were cars running away from a patrol. They got in the wrong and caused that uproar,"_ a lady who hit the car in the bridge lane told the reporter. " _After the crash, a pickup truck overturned the bridge fence and was about to fall into the river. She came running over the stopped cars and managed to hold on in time. It was impressive. But when the police arrived to arrest her, she threw herself into the river,_ " and there was a cut of the issue for someone else, a man named Philip Blat " _When I saw that girl holding a truck by herself, I was silly. I could not help her with the weight, but I gave my moral support. The vigilante was left with skinned hands and fell out of exhaustion. She's definitely not a killer. She must be fighting the other guy and I would help her whatever it takes._ " Another cut of the matter for firefighter Owen Larson who was also considered a hero helping to remove the wounded men from the pickup truck " _I only prayed for her to resist, you see? So that she would do her job and I could do mine. My job is to save lives. I do not know what she does, but I hope she's a partner. It will be very welcome._ " The report still looked for Cody Vaughan, the man who was in the truck. With tears in his eyes, the man said: " _Me and my son have a second chance in life thanks to the vigilante and the fireman. That's all I have to say._ "

Nine people were injured in the North Bridge accident, as it's called, including the man removed from the pickup truck. The accident caused extensive traffic jam, which delayed the arrival of paramedics and police. The internet video showed the vigilante's back holding the truck, the movement around her, especially Rachel, the fireman and the truck driver. Only Rachel didn't speak to the press, which was ironic.

Matt stared at the different reactions. It looked like a game turnout triggered by Santana, who never really managed to stay away from the patrols. He regretted that he had done nothing all this time, but he couldn't go against the Boss. While her colleague crossed the streets and ran away from the police, he was comfortable at home, too busy to cement his courtship with Quinn. Yes, he more than anyone else knew the importance of sharing life with someone. He lived alone long enough to cherish every minute he spent next to his girlfriend. But there were responsibilities above fears. He mumbled for the umpteenth time that Tuesday night.

"What's going to happen to Santana?" Quinn sat beside him on the couch after putting Beth to sleep.

"What do you mean? They're talking about the vigilante, not Santana."

"But first the vigilante was only a shadow. Now everyone knows that she is a woman of colour, with approximate weight and height and no tattoos on her arms."

"I didn't think that way."

"But they're thinking about it. It's because the guy didn't get a good frontal image, but if he did, the police would even have a partial projection of her eyes. We need to do something about it."

"What for example?"

"I don't know... what would Martinez say?"

"He's against it. The Boss is against it, too."

"Boss?"

Matt frowned and realized he had difficulty processing the information. The Boss was Martinez. Yes, he knew that, but for some reason he couldn't explain to Quinn something so simple. He looked at his girlfriend impatiently for explanations. Boss was Martinez. So simple, but he couldn't. He simply couldn't. It was an agony that made him almost panic. Quinn noticed that, in her boyfriend's internal confusion, the table began to float, as did several objects.

"Matt?" She snapped her fingers on the boyfriend's face. "What is going on? You're losing control and you're scaring me."

"Quinn..." He was stunned and all the objects fell at once, making a small bang.

Quinn got up from the couch and checked Beth's room to see if the girl had woken up. She was right and sleeping, then Quinn went back to the living/dining room and found her boyfriend fixing the little mess. He had a few shards of glass in his hands and was looking for newspapers and wrapping bags.

"Matt?"

"I'm sorry for that, Quinn. But there is something very strange. Grant's right."

"Grant?"

"I don't think you should go to Martinez's house any more."

"Matt, this doesn't make sense. I asked you who the Boss is, and you tell me that I can't go to Martinez and learn to control my powers?"

"Martinez controls minds. The boss controls minds. Martinez trains. The boss trains. Martinez says he's trying to help us. The boss formed a team to help people. Martinez knows about everyone, the boss knows about everyone."

"Are you trying to tell me that Martinez is the boss?"

"Yeah!" Matt looked relieved.

"Why did not you say so soon?"

"That's the problem, Quinn. I can't. For a weird reason, I can't."

"Do you think he used mental power in him to create kinds of blockages?"

"That's why you can't get in touch with him anymore. Now I understand what Grant always questioned about the Boss. I see it's true."

"You're sweating." Quinn put her hand gently on the boyfriend's forehead and then pressed her palm against his neck. "It looks feverish."

Matt suddenly started getting dizzy. Then he ran to Quinn's bathroom. The girlfriend was scared. She'd never seen him act so strange in that way. Still kneeling before the toilet, he stared at her.

"Stay away from him, Quinn. Please stay away."

Quinn unloaded the toilet. Then she got a glass of water and another mouthful of antiseptic. Matt drank the water and made the mouthwash and then received the tight embrace of his girlfriend.

"Come on." She took him by the hand and led him to the sofa. "You need to sit down, Matt."

"No... I'm going home."

Quinn didn't contest her boyfriend. She let Matt go. She had some rules and one of them was that no man would sleep in her bed or at her house. Quinn had a small daughter. She had heard enough horrible stories, including from people in the neighbourhood, about boyfriends and husbands abusing their stepdaughters. Not to mention the tendency that certain men had in thinking that they own their girlfriends house. As much as they trusted Matt, Quinn didn't allow herself to open her world completely. If she wanted to have sex, she wouldn't do it inside her house.

After saying goodbye to Matt, he checked his daughter once more. He kissed Beth's forehead and researched the news a little more.

...

Grant turned off the television and pondered the news that night. In the end, he considered that the society's reaction to a person with a superhuman power was positive. Much better than he expected or what the boss prophesied. He thought that getting out of the shadows was perhaps a step to be discussed in the group. Instead of condemning, Grant thought the boss should thank Santana for the favour, even if her action was an instinctive reaction to a problem. A natural impulse for those who had heroism as a characteristic. Santana Lopez was the inverse of the group: arrogant without the mask, altruistic with her. As for him? He didn't know how he identified himself. Silly thoughts aside, he turned on the computer and checked the research he was working on.

Truman Moore, the guy allegedly responsible for a secret security development project in the city was a convict sentenced to death for serial homicides committed in another state. No way this guy would play a secret show in prison government. Still, the name wasn't strange. Grant may have seen the news at the time when the affair was hot, but he doubted it. There was something else. He returned the email and thanked his assistant, Marley Rose, for doing the research.

Grant needed to think. He poured himself a brandy and looked out the window of the comfortable living room in one of the city's most expensive buildings. He lived on the 15th and last floor and had a good panoramic view of the downtown. He could see the town hall there. Maybe he should take Hemon's tip. Perhaps the important information wasn't even networked to be hacked. Maybe he had to go into enemy headquarters to find some answers. The Boss wouldn't approve, of course. Grant returned to the computer and accessed the street map of the city hall. The rest of the week would be studies and more investigations.

...

Brittany was the only one in the group who didn't think about conspiracies and had not even seen the newspaper. Everything she thought she needed to know about the incident with Santana was told by her Boss, the person she trusted in life. Boss wouldn't lie: Santana impulsive actions would leave them in misery someday. Brittany accepted the argument, even because she had nothing in mind to contest it. She didn't understand politics, she didn't understand administrative processes, and what little she knew about strategies came from what the Boss explained to her. The world knowing about people with powers sounded like a bad idea. She remembered the countless nights she visited hospitals along with the Boss, healing people whenever possible, but with a mask on her face. If someone knew her identity, it would treat her like a messiah and life would turn into hell. Brittany didn't even know what was right with a messiah.

Her lover couldn't be with her that night. There was a lot of confusion to solve thanks to Santana. Her body felt tense and she needed to relax in some way. She didn't feel tired despite the rehearsals at the theater. Brittany went down to the basement of her own house, where there was a large free space, enough for dancing. So as not to disturb the family already collected in their rooms, she put on the earplugs and turned on one of the favourite songs. Brittany was dancing without worrying about precise techniques and movements.

" _Vou deixar a vida me levar para onde ela quiser/ Estou no meu lugar/ você já sabe onde é/ não conte o tempo por nós dois/ pois a qualquer hora posso estar de volta/ depois que a noite terminar_ " (1)

He rocked his body, turned his head, jumped, and played air guitar. He loved merry melodies of songs to sing loudly with all the strength of his lungs. He liked the message of freedom, of lightness, of detachment.

" _Eu já estou na sua estrada_ / _Sozinho, não enxergo nada/ mas vou ficar aqui até que o dia amanheça/ vou esquecer de mim/ e você, se puder, não me esqueça_ "

She thought: how could she loved her freedom so much and allowed herself to be damned? Could it be that the passion she felt for the lover who would never leave her? Wasn't it time for her to get out of there, especially now that the siege around the vigilante was close? Brittany wasn't a coward. She was just a girl who continued to live in search of a dream or two. She spent seven years struggling to get out of her parent's house, and as Santana said one day, she wasn't sure if the love she felt was big enough to make her stay. She accelerated the dance step to sweat more, to tire more. She needed to dance and not think.

...

Quinn thought odd that Rachel didn't show up at the bookstore that week. No matter how often the little diva filled Quinn's patience, she was the only friend the single mother had in town. It wasn't about the snack or any other little gift addressed to Beth. It was the young woman's presence alone. Quinn knew that on Tuesday Rachel didn't visit her because she was with Santana. Yes, Quinn was pretty sure Rachel knew her colleague's secret identity, something she just knew about that Tuesday. Rachel also didn't show up on Wednesday or Thursday. And no sigh of her that Friday, past the lunch time of the community college students. Quinn was worried.

She took care of an elderly client and was imprisoned for almost fifteen minutes looking for books on the shelf. He wanted Arab authors, as well as rare records that would be easier to find in second hand stores or in the internet.

Quinn really liked the clients who chose books from the standouts and that's it. That was what publishers paid so dearly to bookstore chains: to have the books well exposed. But Quinn didn't mind picking up a particular book on the shelf. At least the customer left satisfied and she was able to record the purchases as served by her. The store had an overall goal of sales and service. When more records of purchases made in the hand of a particular clerk, the better for the clerk who earned some bonuses at the end of the month.

"It looks like some teacher asked for books today," a colleague commented. "I hate when that happens."

"I don't," Quinn mused. "If you're lucky enough to catch the nerdiest students, they always buy something else, which is good for my goals."

"Sometimes you act like you're in a barracks, Fabray."

After attending a student in search of the most sought-after book of the day and something else, Quinn went to the staff's glass. She needed to get some water and use the bathroom. The filter cooling was broken and only natural water was available. In other words: warm water, especially since the morning sun at the window was beating exactly in the bottle. She picked up a disposable cup, poured herself the warm water, and concentrated. She left the water cold in a few seconds. She smiled to herself and drank the water with gusto, much to the horror of a colleague who had just complained about the liquid.

"How can you do it?" He asked, almost annoyed.

"Just pretend it's tea," Quinn replied.

The colleague went back to work and she thought that maybe she could do a favour to the other colleagues. She put his hand on the bottle, closed her eyes briefly, and felt the energy flow for a minute or two. She tasted the water. Nothing more than a quarter cup. It's cold, and it would stay like this for a while.

Her cell phone vibrated. It wasn't allowed to use the device in the middle of the day, but the supervisor made thicker views in the case of quick text messages. In the case, it was a message from Matt warning that it wouldn't be possible to get her out of the office because he was stuck at work. Not that it was a problem for Quinn. When the time came, she went to the locker room, changed her clothes and walked to the bus stop to get her daughter. She saw Rachel crossing the street, carrying the bicycle she rarely rides. Quinn didn't miss the opportunity, crossed the street to meet the little diva.

"Hi Rachel," The little diva gave a small leap back as she was surprised by her friend.

"Hi Quinn."

"You didn't show up this week," Quinn said in a charging tone. "I missed you."

"I'm busy." Rachel avoided eye contact.

"Not even time to say hello?" She found Rachel's dusty face strange in someone who wore make-up so light it was hard to tell. Quinn held her friend's arm. "Rachel, is something wrong with you?"

"No," she replied a little too quickly to Quinn's taste.

"So why are you wearing this heavy makeup? You aren't like that."

"It was just a change..."

"Of course ..." Quinn interrupted Rachel. "Some women often use heavy makeup to hide bruises, which is not your case, right?" Rachel glanced down at Quinn to hit the fly. Nothing like the personal experience: her mother was sweating such a way to hide the consequences of the beatings her father gave when he was drunk. Or when she herself took a beating from her boyfriend when he lost control and accused her of ruining his life by getting pregnant 'intentionally'. "You know you can talk to me, can't you?" Rachel nodded sheepishly. "So?"

"I already said it was nothing."

"Was it Finn's fault, by any chance?"

"No!" Rachel said urgently, "He wouldn't touch a finger on me no matter how angry he was. This wasn't his doing. It was an unfortunate accident that happened yesterday in college."

"Accident?" Quinn was relieved not to have been Finn, but still intrigued by the origins of the bruise. "What kind of accident?" Rachel silently mumbled and turned her face. "Rachel? Someone hit you?"

"It was an accident. He was furious and pushed me. I bumped my face against the wall."

"He? Rachel, explain me right, please. You can trust me."

"If I tell you, will you promise not to comment? Especially with Finn or our castmates?" Quinn nodded.

"So?" Rachel stopped the walk and looked at the floor.

"A classmate of mine isn't a fan of the vigilante, because his father was arrested in that pedophilia case. He saw the video, just like everyone else in this town, and presumed that I personally know the vigilante. Then he accused me of things."

"Did he hit you because of that?" Quinn was nauseous and, to some extent, angry at Santana for somehow involving Rachel.

"He and two friends cornered me yesterday and tried to pressure me to find out who the vigilante was. Well, the caretaker saved me. "

"Bastards." Quinn kicked a pebble.

"It was nothing. He was just an idiot son of a criminal that was hurt because justice was done. He must have been angrier with his father for being a pedophile, but there are people who embanan'as things, you know... I'm fine. Really! But I don't know if I'm going to rehearsal today. I don't want to answer questions."

"Are you afraid that someone else in particular will notice and go and take action that would be disastrous there?" Rachel stirred nervously and Quinn decided to play to verify a hypothesis that arose. She held Rachel's hand and said firmly, "Are you afraid that someone very, very strong, even though it doesn't look like this, take action? A certain girl with light brown skin?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Rachel tried to break free.

"I'm talking about the vigilante, Rachel. You know who she is."

"I've never seen her face," she was categorical. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't you think you're being too inquisitive, Fabray?"

Quinn froze for a moment. Rachel never called her by the last name and it hurt her. She released Rachel and took a step back. She straightened her posture and decided to release her friend.

"It's all right. But I'll give you some practical advice about the rehearsal. If you don't go, you will create speculations you don't want. Especially the person who you most want to hide this bruise. Go and avoid may be a smarter policy than simply not showing up and raising even more questions."

Rachel nodded. She got on her bike and continued on her way. Quinn watched her leave. She was sure that Rachel knew Santana's secret identity. The singer has shown there that she is seriously willing to keep the secret no matter the pressure. Quinn came back to the bus stop. Beth was waiting for her and her responsibilities to her daughter came first.

...

The central police station was six blocks from the community college: less than ten minutes by bicycle. Rachel decided to pedal to try to ease the tension. Her stomach was heavy and her hands were cold. On the way she thought of every story he should tell the delegate. She went over all the key details in the mind of the story she invented. She thought it was brilliant. She followed Mercedes's instructions not to talk to anyone in the press, something they tried to do. She needed to stay calm. Breathe. It was going to be all right. She locked the bicycle on the pole and entered the building of the central police station. Kurt was waiting for her at the door. They embraced in silence and went into the building.

"My name is Rachel Berry," she said to the receptionist said. "I have an intimation to testify," she handed the paper over.

"Sure darling, wait a moment."

Rachel sat down in one of the waiting benches. Her legs were wobbly to stand on.

"It'll be all right," Kurt hugged her friend. "Remember, you're not under investigation and you're a co-worker. They will treat you well."

Rachel listened in silence to his friend's words. Yes, she was scared. Dying inside. She had been through this situation before, but this time things seemed different, more real. She waited fifteen minutes before she was called. A detective came up to her, greeted her, but when he drove her to the interrogation room, they heard the scream.

"Rachel Berry!" A well-dressed young man stopped the sheriff and the girl. "Rachel Berry, I'm sorry I'm late. Can we talk for two minutes? "

"And who are you?" The detective frowned.

"Grant Fish, Rachel Berry's attorney. Sir, you know the rules."

The detective practically growled, but he let the rich kid talk to the witness. Grant pulled Rachel to a more private place in the station. They both ignored Kurt, who wanted to know what was going on, and sat down to talk.

"Right to the point, we have a great friend in common and she asked me to be with you as your attorney."

"She told me about you once. She said she trust you."

"Since we're aware of this, pay close attention to what's going to happen in there. The detective will try to intimidate you in every way, will show you supposed evidence, threaten to arrest you, will make you speak thick in your face. But you won't say a word. Only I speak for you."

"Can he arrest me?"

"He can detain you for up to 24 hours if he frames you as suspected of committing a crime. But he would only use it if you weren't with an attorney. Plus, they have absolutely nothing against you. Anything."

"And what if they think I helped the vigilante escape another day?"

"Rachel, this is nothing. The only thing they can do is use this to pressure you. Do what I say. From now on you only speak when I say so. Understood?"

Rachel nodded. It wasn't a first meeting she'd like to have with someone like Grant Fish, but since the circumstances were those, she would face it. They entered the interrogation room, followed by the pair of investigators. Rachel stared at the mirror on the wall where she knew someone else was watching. She had seen too many cop movies with Finn to understand the cliché. The first time she was in the police station, it wasn't like that. She just sat across from the detective's desk in the middle of the office and told the lies she had to say to protect Santana. There, in that room, things seemed more serious and intimidating.

"This conversation will be recorded for your own safety." The detective issued the usual warning. "Could you say your full name, your age, social record, profession, please?"

Rachel glanced at Grant, who nodded.

"Rachel Barbra Berry, 21, registered 26549735-78, I'm a student, waitress, and singer."

"Rachel Berry, do you confirm that you witnessed the events that happened at approximately 2:30 p.m. last Tuesday at the high bridge of the north exit of the city?"

"Yes," Rachel replied after looking at Grant. It was a question she couldn't deny. There was a viral video showing it.

"Why were you there?"

Rachel silenced at Grant's signal.

"Rachel Berry, I want to make it clear that you are not here in a position of suspicion, but a witness. Your testimony is important to clarify this case."

"Can I ask which case we're talking about, sir?" Grant said. "Of the case where two luxury car thieves caused a traffic disaster on the high bridge or the case where a girl wearing a mask saved the lives of two people by holding a pickup truck with her own hands? You have to make everything very clear, sir."

The detective laughed and looked at the mirror.

"One thing led to another, Fish."

"Clarify what the exact relationship one event has to do with the other. If this is not done, I'm afraid I should ask my client to get up and just talk to the court. That, of course, if she agrees to speak, because as far as I know, she is not a defendant."

"Mr. Fish, do you aware that your client has already been involved in a previous case with the vigilante? Hiding outlaws is a crime."

"Just like to have an outlaw without identity, sir. At least one face. Do you by any chance know the identity of this supposed vigilante?"

It was the detective's turn to remain silent. The black man ran his hand over his face and resorted to a briefcase. He opened it and showed documents and a series of images taken from the video that circulated on the Internet.

"Your client has been here at the police station previously and said in all letters that she met vigilante on three occasions."

"Can I take a look at these files, Detective?"

Grant watched the transcript of the statement and in fact Rachel confessed to having found the watchman on multiple occasions and that she defended him. But she had also said she had never seen his face and that was the advantage Grant could work.

"I've met you on some occasions, Detective. I may not have spoken to you directly, but we've stumbled around. That doesn't mean I know you. The same can be said of my client."

"Do you know the identity of the vigilante, Berry?" The detective said in an aggressive, intimidating tone.

"No!" She replied suddenly. So naturally no one would say it was a lie.

"If you try to coerce my client, Detective, we will be forced to withdraw and file a complaint of abuse of authority against you."

The detective smiled as he rearranged the file folder over Rachel Berry. For the police, in fact she was the best chance of trying to catch the vigilante. What they didn't expect was that she would have the support of the son of a big-shot of the city.

"Why were you on that bridge, Berry?"

Rachel was silent at Grant's command. She was nervous and didn't understand the strategy. But she knew she had to trust that stranger who appeared from time to time in the social columns of the city. He was Santana's friend after all, and Rachel clung to it.

"Berry, I swear if you don't cooperate, I'll let you reflect on your actions in a very cozy cell for endless 24 hours until I can find evidence against you!"

"Great that everything is being recorded, Detective, because that threat will go to your records now. One more amidst the vastness of your listing, is it not? Now, if you'll excuse me, this conversation with my client ends here." Grant offered his client a hand. "Rachel."

Rachel got up and they left the interrogation room, leaving the two detectives stunned. As promised, before leaving the station, Grant filed a formal complaint against the pair of detectives. It would make them more irritable, but on the other hand, he would hold their impulses. The chief of police would be in charge of this disciplinary act and Rachel would have some peace until the situation finally settled.

Rachel left Kurt and Grant, but insisted on going to work. At least, over there, serving tables, she would occupy the mind. He saw the amount of texts and unanswered calls from Santana.

" _Rachel!_ " She heard her friend's urgent voice. " _Where have you been? I was worried._ "

"Just to warn you I'm fine. Today I testified at the police and followed Grant's instructions. Thank you for asking him to accompany me. He held the situation pretty well. "

"Okay, Grant's there for this... But are you really okay?"

"I'll see you at rehearsal tonight, Santana."

...

Santana was worried after receiving the call. She understood the message and thanked him for the tip, but the impression she had was that something was wrong with Rachel. She worried for the rest of the day, trying to hold herself so as not to go after the girl she liked in a romantic way. Santana would see her in the rehearsals, but doubted they would had a chance to talk properly. She waited anxiously until it was time to go to the theater, as usual, along with Mercedes and Artie. On arrival at the theater, she tried to talk to Rachel, but was approached first by Quinn.

"Leave her alone," the ice queen warned.

"What?" Santana frowned.

"Leave her alone!" He repeated more emphatically and took hold of her companion's arm. Then she whispered. "I know you're the watchman and Rachel is already in enough trouble because of you."

"Get off" Santana said softly. She felt Quinn's hand get so cold that she started to burn her skin. Then he snatched his arm and warned, "I know we're attached to something common, but that doesn't mean I have to be your friend. So take care of your own business, Fabray, and stay out of mine."

Rachel was there, dancing and singing with the castmates, but it was as if she were miles away. It was interesting to note that Finn also seemed lost. It was as if Rachel was rejecting both. Santana only got a little opportunity in the first half and didn't lose it. Santana saw the diva alone and pulled her into one of the empty halls behind the scenes.

"What happened?" Santana whispered and then noticed Rachel's face. "What happened? Who hit you?"

"That was nothing."

"Rachel..."

"That was nothing. Not everything that happens in my life is because of you, Santana."

Santana was frightened by the aggressiveness and stepped back.

"I won't bother you anymore."

"Wait..." Rachel held the guard by the arm. "I'm still upset that I have to go to the police station today. That's all."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I don't have the courage to come out."

"You know you can't. Look, Saturday will be the last time I will sing in the restaurant before the season of our play and I have prepared a special set. Go see me and then we'll talk."

Santana accepted the terms and resigned herself, although the anguish hadn't passed.

...

After days buried in the city hall looking for weaknesses and possible places to look for sensitive files, Grant sketched the plan to enter the site overnight, but he would need help. He was sure Artie would agree. The problem would be to convince someone like Matt to be part of the mission. It would be easier to call Santana, but Telekinesis was useful in that case. Everything was adaptable, though. He drafted everything in a notebook and wrote Sunday: 23 hours.

…

…

(1) Vou Deixar, by Skank (Samuel Rosa)

"I'll let life take me wherever it wants / I'm in my place / you already know where it is / don't count the time for the two of us / because at any time I can be back / after the night is over

I'm already on your road / Alone, I can't see anything / but I'll stay here until the day dawns / I'll forget myself / but you, if you can, don't forget me"

Skank is the most successful Brazilian pop band. It began in the 1990s and is a machine to produce hits until today. There's a very good combination in this band. The members are good musicians, the vocalist Samuel Rosa sings very well and is a great composer. Skank's career management is an example, by how they relate to the record company in conjunction with the very company they set up to take care of their interests. Their albums always sell well, the songs are relevant, they insert songs in the soundtracks of Brazilian soap operas, they go to popular programs, they play in festivals. And best of all is that the quality is always high.

Search Youtube: Skank Vou Deixar.


	18. Different pages

Santana took the dress from the wardrobe. She placed it in front of her and looked at herself in the mirror. It was a good choice for a nightly event: informal, with a generous neckline, it made her sensual but not vulgar. That dress was the one she liked to wear to kill in fancy places. She already seduced some girls wearing it and was sure that Rachel would like. That's the intention, right? What other reason for her to invite Santana to her last performance at the restaurant? Maybe Rachel thought better and wanted to change the status of friendship to romance. It wasn't that Santana had to conquer her properly once the little diva confessed to being attracted for her.

On the other hand, the vigilante knew that it wasn't the fatal woman side that attracted Rachel's attention, but the heroic one who wore wide pants and jacket, plus a black mask with the eye-hole. It was how Superman or Spider-Man caught Lois Lane's and Mary Jane's attention. They wouldn't look at Clark Kent or Peter Parker if they didn't know the truth behind the mask (or with the glasses). It seemed to be her case, and it irritated her. Rachel never looked at Santana Lopez until she discovered the mask.

She thought better, threw the dress on the bed and went to look for something more comfortable in the wardrobe. She chose a tight pair of jeans, a neutral gray blouse she once wore at an architecture congress, and felt too clothed for the event. Would serve for the current occasion, however. In addition, because it had no sleeves, it wouldn't disturb the action in an emergency. She wore a denim jacket. Fairer model, feminine. Santana tied her hair in a well-done ponytail. She looked at herself in the mirror once more and felt like Buffy Summers version season 7 herself. She looked for suitable shoes. High heels would be a good request, but if there were any problems along the way, they would make it very difficult. Then, she chose the low heeled boots she loved. It was good enough to go to a restaurant and would allowed to fight if necessary.

Santana reached for a mask at the bottom of the drawer and put it in her bag. She never knew. She did a discreet makeup, used red lipstick, and looked at herself in the mirror one last time. Discreet and comfortable elegance.

"Wow!" She crossed Artie into the hall of the building. "Where are you going, Miss Lopez? Are you going to hunt some girls?"

"It's none of your business." She kissed his friend's cheek. "Whatever you need, call me."

"Have fun."

Rachel said Santana should sing by ten o'clock. It was twenty minutes to go, which was enough time. Santana drove her old car to the restaurant. She had no trouble finding parking. It seemed not to be such a weak day. End of month was always like this, when people had no more money left over and prayed for the next salary. Few were still able to afford small luxuries. The place was more expensive than average. Saturday there was the traditional bar and the performances with the waitresses with the jazz trio. Sometimes there was a special attraction. College students preferred the cheapest places, the pubs, the diners, or the nightclub that was dedicated to a type of music you can dance. Santana's favourite pub was one that offer good quality Mexican food and she could play darts. The boys go crazy with her precision not knowing she was actually cheating.

"Can I help you?" The receptionist asked.

"I'm meeting some friends, but I'll wait for them at the bar if that's okay." Santana forced smile on her face.

"Perfectly, miss. Let me know when your friends arrive."

"Santana?" The vigilante was surprised to find Tina in the restaurant coming toward her. "What a surprise. What are you doing here? "

"I ... I ..." She didn't know what excuse to invent because she was still taken by surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Rachel's going to do her last performance and we've all come to support her."

"Rachel?" Santana frowned.

"Yes, Rachel Berry, duh. Didn't you know she works here?" Tina put her hands on her waist. "For your face, I don't think so. Anyway, today is the last time she's going to sing on traditional Saturday nights until we finish the one-month season of our play."

"Of course..." The debut was the following week.

"Don't you want to join us if you're not expecting anyone?"

"We?" And Santana looked in the direction of Tina pointing. She saw a group at one of the tables: Finn, Kurt, Puck, and another guy she did not know. "Oh!"

"It's a meeting of the old gang, I mean, my old gang."

"I don't want to disturb. Me, Hudson and Hummel at the same table wouldn't be a good thing. Besides, I'm expecting someone."

"Really? You're not going to say it's Jenny again!"

"It's none of your business, Chang."

"Well... good luck on your date then. She must be a big deal if you chose this fancy restaurant."

Santana forced a smile and had a crazy urge to run away. Tina returned to the table with her friends and the vigilante was about to turn around when the jazz trio's pianist announced Rachel. Santana leaned against the bar and watched the little diva come up onto the stage with a lovely smile on her face. Rachel wore discreet makeup that even revealed a little bit of her purplish face.

"Good evening." Rachel took the microphone. "I will be a month away from our traditional dates because I'll be performing next week at the open night of the play Tropicália. Please, go there to see a fine play, with great songs a then come here to finish your night enjoying the best cuisine in this town. Well... this is my temporary farewell, I would like to dedicate this song to my friends who came to see me. Love you."

The most enthusiastic applause came from the table where friends were. Rachel glanced past the audience and found a solitary being in the bar watching her closely. Rachel nodded to the trio and the melody began. Santana grimaced as Rachel began to sing a silly song as "Amor I Love You", accompanied in chorus by the people sitting at the table. Santana thought it was an internal joke or something. She wasn't totally wrong. "Amor I Love You" was the song that Rachel sang a bit drunk for Finn in front of the whole school at the singer's prom. That night she slept with Finn without protection, who went through the drama of a false-positive pregnancy. Another reason that made her dads hate the mechanic even more.

The enthusiastic applause came almost exclusively from the table of friends. The rest of the clientele didn't seem so excited. "Amor I love you" was such a bad song. Santana was one that also hated it. She always considered that such music was the worst thing that Marisa Monte did in the career, besides the Tribalists.

"I'll sing another song, if you don't mind," Rachel announced into the microphone and glanced toward the bar, where Santana was. She did expect the vigilante, so she prepared something that could make sense to both, "and I would like to dedicate it to a very special person."

The trio began to play vigorously and Rachel sang beautifully.

" _Sou um animal sentimental/ Me apego facilmente ao que desperta o meu desejo/ Tente me obrigar a fazer o que para que todos nós nos digamos/ E cê vai logo ver o que acontece/ Acho que entendo o que você quer me dizer/ Mas existem outras coisas_

 _Consegui meu equilíbrio cortejando uma insanidade/ Tudo está perdido, mas existem possibilidades/ Tínhamos a ideia, mas você mudou os planos/ Tínhamos um plano, você mudou de ideia/ Já passou, já passou - quem sabe outro dia_

 _Antes eu sonhava, agora já não durmo/ Quando é que é que competimos por primeira vez?/ O que ninguém percebe é o que todo mundo sabe/ Não entendo terrorismo, falávamos de amizade_

 _Não está mais interessado no que sinto/ Não acredito em nada além do que duvido/ Você espera respostas que eu não tenho mas/ Não brigar por causa disso/ Até penso duas vezes se você quiser ficar_ " (1)

Finn thought the music was for him and he was confused by the message. Firstly because he wasn't so good with interpretations. Secondly, because he hated Renato Russo. How many times did he and his girlfriend talk about musical preferences? Countless. And he didn't understand why she offered him something he didn't like that much.

What Rachel meant was that she understood Santana's position, but she also was establishing hers. The diva's and the vigilante's eyes met at the end of the performance. There was more intense applause (by surprise of interpretation and arrangement). Rachel bowed, thanked the audience, and she looked once more toward the bar. Santana was gone. Bitter. Rachel put a smile on her face and returned to serve the tables passing whenever she could close her friends to talk silly and another. They would all go out to dance at a party in the university campus that Tina insisted on taking them.

When Rachel ends her shift shortly after eleven at night, she received a hug from her friends and a kiss from her boyfriend.

"Did you see Santana?" Tina asked and Rachel was taken aback. The colleague understood the silence as a negative. "She was here in the restaurant. I think it's for a date. I haven't seen her anymore."

"Oh!"

"Let's go! We have a party waiting for us." Puck rushed his friends into the car. "I'm want to get a college girl."

Rachel got into her boyfriend's pickup truck, while the rest took a ride on Puck's old car, a classic, as he himself would emphasize. Nothing but a Maverick he and Finn took two years to build. The campus party was almost at its peak. Many people circulated on the lawn of the hill, as it was called the space for events. One band cheered and the main attraction of the night would be the next. The group remained close. Rachel and Finn were dating, Kurt was trying to contact Adam, her boyfriend, Puck and Dave went hunting some girls, and Tina was going to talk to colleagues around.

...

Santana was also running around the campus party, but she had arrived well before Rachel's group of friends. On the way out of the restaurant she called Jenny and asked her to go out. Fasting was long and the scene in the restaurant made her lose one of the few hopes she had for Rachel. Jenny was officially Santana's girlfriend since the day of the bridge's event, when they agreed to try again. The truth was that Santana was terrified that Jenny would reveal the secret, so she decided play the game. But at that moment, when she was once again frustrated with Rachel, staying with Jenny would be easy. Santana needed a little warmth and comfort.

Santana and Jenny set up a meeting place and when they saw each other, Jenny welcomed her with a great kiss on the lips. The gesture didn't seem right to Santana, but so what? She needed a warm, safe body that night. And Jenny was her girlfriend, right? Right! They went to the party. Sometimes they kissed, but they danced and held hands most of the time. The vigilante pretended to have fun, but the reality was that melancholy was affecting her.

After the performance of the main attraction, nothing more than a band that was successful by the state, Santana walked with Jenny with their fingers entwined. Coincidentally they ran into Tina, but this time Rachel and Finn were around.

"Oh, so your date was with Jenny!" Tina smiled at the sight of them. "Hi, Jenny, it's been a while."

"You see me almost every day in the cafeteria, Chang." Jenny wasn't recognized for her delicacy.

"Way to say, Jen" Santana tried to disguise the discomfort in seeing a pair of brown eyes land on her in surprise and, perhaps, disapproval. It was as if Santana was doing something wrong, even though she knew she wasn't.

"So you guys came back?" Tina asked.

"Yeah." Santana responded with false enthusiasm. But at least being with Jenny in front of Rachel and Finn was a good thing. She didn't feel down. "Enjoy the party" She said especially for Rachel.

The two couples and Tina walked away. Santana didn't really want to socialize with those people.

"Let's get out of here." Santana said to her girlfriend.

"I agree. We had enough fun here. Now I want to go to my place with you."

Not only Jenny's dormitory was the closest to the hill, but she shared the place with no one else. They walked holding hands to the bedroom without worrying about the dangers that might arise through the dark path. It was obvious that Free State University, like any other large institution, had some problems with violence, especially sexual violence. No wonder there were some prevention tools, such as campus security patrols and sidewalks with emergency phones along the way. But Jenny was no longer worried about walking away from all those security mechanisms. She was with her girlfriend, who was strong enough to hold a car. She wouldn't worry any more.

Jenny smiled to see that her girlfriend was being soft that night. Santana was in no hurry between kisses and caresses. Santana led Jenny to the bed, joked about doing strip tease, laughed a little, told fun things and let the sex flow. The frustration she felt about Rachel was reversed in a desire to make the relationship with Jenny work. Besides, she did not want to have aggressive sex that night. Santana took time to kiss the girlfriend's herogenic parts, to stimulate her, to take her time.

"I love you, San." Jenny said as she took pleasure in being touched and penetrated by her girlfriend.

Santana smiled. Yes, she smiled for real while working with her strong fingers and kissing Jenny. But she didn't say I love you back.

"You're so beautiful." Santana said watching her girlfriend reach the climax.

Santana had her turn as well. Jenny was particularly talented with oral sex, and the vigilante loved that. She also knew some massage techniques that made Santana out of an obvious pleasure. They both won that night and both had a wonderful night.

But, at dawn, while Santana was naked under a blanket as one arm wrapped around her waist, she thought of the sudden feeling of emptiness. Santana thought of all her power and desire to help. Still it was bringing trouble to the people she liked. It wasn't just about Rachel. Santana also thought of Brittany, Artie, Mercedes and Grant. She also thought about Quinn and the aggression the cool queen approached her that day. There were a lot of people putting themselves at risk just to protect her. Santana hated that.

"I still do not believe it," she heard Jenny say softly.

"What?" She avoided turning to face her girlfriend.

"That we're together again." Jenny's voice was contented, although small and taken by certain fatigue.

Santana's heart ached. Jenny really liked the vigilante, but to Santana que senior student was a convenient rebound. Maybe it was better to just let go of the moment and the many who would come next.

In the morning, her lips would smile, but her eyes were sad as she and her girlfriend had a great breakfast in a small, charming diner.

"I spent days thinking about how a creature could eat so much and stay lean." Jenny was always impressed by Santana's meals. Even after so much time they knew each other, she couldn't get used to it. It was so weird. "Now I know my girlfriend have super strength."

"I have an accelerated metabolism."

"This can't last forever."

"Jealous much?"

"Of you?"

"Of course you're jealous." Santana smiled genuinely for the first time since they started their meal.

"Say one more time why I date you?"

"Please, you're obsessed with me. Which I don't blame you considering I'm the hottest piece of meat in this town."

"How much romanticism." Jenny rolled her eyes.

"I am who I am."

Was that true? Sometimes Santana had some identity crises about who she really was. She could be an applied nerd student in a classroom while watching the teachers' explanations in front of projectors and computers. She could travel in pictures of the cities, imagine the life between the alleyways and the countless possible stories that happened in those places. Outside the classroom, day in and day out, she was the smart, sexy, gay, sharp-tongued girl always ready to respond when necessary. Was Santana the attentive, smart and confident girl. Was she the one that try to hide deep down the romantic and insecure little girl. Or was she the intrepid and unselfish vigilante: the faceless hero that fight with villains and weapons to keep the innocents safe?

Was she simply a complex mix of all of these? The spice that made it so fascinating, even in the eyes of her friends, though she herself didn't realize it.

"What are you planning to do today?" Jenny asked. "If you have no plans to go out into the city saving the weak and downtrodden, I think we could go to that outlet. I need to do some shopping to travel next week. I'm out of proper clothes."

"Traveling?" Santana frowned.

"For the international business fair in Berlin. It's the theme of my project, don't you remember?" Santana continued to forget that this was Jenny's senior year, while she still had two more to go.

"Next week?"

"Will you miss me?"

"Of course I will."

"So?"

"What?"

"Do I have to go shopping alone or not?"

"Sorry, I have to study."

"Come on, San."

"It's true. I get scholarship, Jenny. I can't be left behind or I'll lose it."

"I love you for being such a hot sexy nerd."

"I know." Once again, Santana didn't said that she loved Jenny back. Of course she really cared for Jenny. Santana liked a lot her bitchy girlfriend, but she didn't love her.

Santana get back to her dorm and saw Mercedes, her boyfriend, Artie, and other colleagues in the building having fun on the lawn while sunbathing. She thought of joining her friends, but decided that having a shower was a priority. At least with the shower water falling freely on her face and body she could think better of all the nonsense she'd done last week. Running to keep the car from falling off the bridge? What was she thinking? No. That was the right thing to do, no matter how much she gave a bad time for her friends.

She put on casual clothes: flip flops, her favourite Beatles' T-shirts and jeans. She left her dorm carrying a backpack with a towel, a book and a notebook to study in the park. it would be a sin not to enjoy the sunny day. The urban park was colourful and pleasant in the light of day, with all those people circling. Some skateboarding, some riding a bike, some just walking. Children ran and there were still the old hot dog strollers, popcorn, popsicle and cotton candy set out at strategic points, as in the playgrounds.

"It's strange to see you here in broad daylight," Santana heard the familiar voice from behind. She turned and waited for Rachel Berry to reach her.

"It's strange to see you here now." Santana frowned. She was really surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Going to work. Why are you here?"

"Just looking for a good place to read a book."

"Are you sure?" Santana just nodded and Rachel accepted the answer. "And your... girlfriend?"

"Jenny?" Santana shook her head. "Why do you care?"

"I don't… I just… I don't see you two together."

"Jealous?"

Rachel did not answer because it was true. She turned her face from Santana and grunted.

"Jenny is fine. At least she wants me." Santana said quietly. "She wanted me way before the mask."

"Why didn't you talk to me at the restaurant? Because of her? Or this?"

"Let's say you make your thoughts very crystal through that music."

"Do you think that?"

"Why did you sing that song?"

"It was just a song I like. You like it too. I saw it in your iPod." Rachel said.

"The message…"

"About two people who aren't in the same page, but really like each other. That's us."

"You're not at the same page."

"Clearly we aren't."

"I think you're right."

"I know I am."

Rachel looked at her friend and allowed herself a small smile.

"Will things between us continue to be like this?" Santana asked and looked at the grass.

"Just a complex relationship between complex people."

"Maybe you're right," Santana allowed herself to smile.

"That makes us even, right?"

"In what sense?"

"You don't like Finn. And I don't like Jenny."

"I don't like Finn because I know him. What is your excuse?"

"I have a good intuition."

Santana nodded and sighed.

"It's my way out" Rachel pointed to the left gate. "Are you... going to patrol tonight?"

"Probably not. I need to let things cool down a bit. Who knows Tuesday?"

Rachel smiled. On Tuesday she would work at night.

...

In the noble part of town, Grant mentally scanned all calculated movements accurately. He needed to be ready if he wanted to unravel another piece of the puzzle. He called Matt and the telesinetic was in. He closed his eyes and took a quick half-hour nap. It was the private ritual he was doing when he was about to take action.

…

…

(1) Sereníssima, by Legião Urbana (Renato Russo)

" _I'm a sentimental animal/ I cling easily to what awakens my desire/ Try to force me to do what I don't want/ And you'll see what happens next/ I think I understand what you want to tell me/ But there are other things_

 _I got my balance courting an insanity/ Everything is lost, but there are possibilities/ We had the idea, but you changed the plans/ We had a plan, you changed your mind/ It's already gone, it's already gone - maybe another day_

 _Before I dreamed, now I don't sleep/ When do we compete for the first time?/ What nobody realizes is what everyone knows/ I don't understand terrorism, we were talking about friendship_

 _I'm not interested in what I feel anymore/ I don't believe in anything other than what I doubt/ You expect answers that I have no more/ But I don't fight about it/ I even think twice if you want to stay_ "

Renato Russo was the most important songwriter of the 1980's and 90's in Brazil. Legião Urbana was the Brazilian rock band that sold the most records in history. The musicians themselves were very bad, mediocre. But the Legião enchanted by the strength of Renato Russo's lyrics. He was also a great singer. Renato's lyrics were so strong, he allowed himself not to follow standardization. Most of his songs didn't even have choruses. In an extreme case, the music 'Faroeste Caboclo', which is a 10 minutes story narrated, was the nº1 song in the hit parade in 1987 for months in a row. 10 minutes people! For months! This song even inspired a movie of the same name. In fact, all Legião Urbana albums had at least four hit songs each. The Album 'Dois' put seven songs on the charts, including 'Tempo Perdido', the true anthem of the youth. Renato Russo died in 1996 due to depression and AIDS. The remaining two members sometimes perform shows with Legião repertoire to earn some money by nostalgia. But neither managed to have a solid solo career after Renato Russo's passing.

Search Youtube: Serenissima Audio


	19. Vigilantes in action

Just at six o'clock that night, Matt and Quinn were at his house after an afternoon they took advantage of Beth's absence (who was at a birthday party) to be alone and to enjoy themselves. Quinn kissed her boyfriend long in the mouth before leaving the bed for a glass of water. She grabbed one of his clean T-shirt and dressed it to cover her naked body. She didn't like being exposed outside a room and knew there were curious neighbours in the building next door. Besides, she wasn't sure if the window curtain was closed or not. When Quinn reached the room, she saw she was right: the window was open.

She got some water in the refrigerator and enjoyed the liquid trickling down her throat. Quinn noticed Matt's backpack across the living room floor. It was open and she could see the mask inside. Curiosity took the best of her and decided to check it out better. It was a dark denim jacket, gloves, the mask and two printed pages. Quinn frowned as she read the information on those sheets.

"Quinn, I saw now that we have twenty minutes to get..." Matt entered the room completely naked and was silenced to see his girlfriend close to the watchman's things.

"Are you going to run around the city as a vigilante, too?"

"Quinn..."

"Don't lie to me, Matt," she said nervously. "Are you? I thought you told me to stay away from Martinez, that he could be dangerous."

"That's why I'm going out tonight." He approached cautiously. "Quinn, I still don't know what exactly it is, but Grant and Santana have been investigating and have discovered clues that indicate that we may be in danger. All of us."

"Why didn't you tell me anything? Our relationship is trustworthy, Matt! Did you forget? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to involve you or Beth."

"Are you crazy? I have powers too! I'm automatically involved, then I have the right to know." Quinn crumpled the leaves against her boyfriend's chest. "What is it?"

"Things I got to note about Grant and Santana's investigations. There is a ghost government defence program run by Truman Moore. Apparently he's a death row convict in another state, which doesn't make much sense. Grant wants to find out more information about it and needs my help to get it."

"Truman Moore?"

"Strange name, right? The strangest thing is that we all have the impression that we've seen that name somewhere, but no one can remember where."

"Like the time you got sick because Martinez put a kind of lock on your head that makes you unable to say he and Boss are the same person?"

"I don't know if that's the case. However..."

Quinn stared at her boyfriend and took the mask. She looked at the piece of cloth and thought briefly about the situation.

"Truman Moore?" Quinn repeated and the insistence made Matt alert.

"Quinn, if you know what it's about..."

"It's not obvious? There's a picture on the mezzanine where we train at Martinez's house with a pop art about a cartoon character that reads "Truman Moore is the man."

"What picture?" Matt was genuinely confused.

"On the mezzanine. It's not a small picture. Are you sure you don't remember?"

"I didn't know there were pictures on the mezzanine..."

Matt closed his eyes. That could be another lock placed on his mind. But it wasn't even put in Quinn's mind perhaps because he didn't find it necessary because of the short time. Maybe because the process couldn't be completed or maybe Quinn can resist. Matt didn't quite understand the boss's mental power. All he knew was that he couldn't read thoughts of someone who wasn't in the same environment and the mental connection became stronger with the touch, to the point that the boss could perform a psychic attack. Matt only saw it happen once against Santana. He still remembers the way Santana screamed seconds before fainting.

"Quinn. Are you sure about that? "Matt took his girlfriend's hand.

"Of course. It's just a silly picture of a cartoon. I remember it caught my eye the first time we went there."

Matt nodded and picked up his cell phone. He called Grant.

" _Matt! What's up?_ " Grant wasn't expecting to talk to his partner until eight o'clock, when he was scheduled to meet.

"Truman Moore is a painting on Martinez's mezzanine."

" _What? There are no pictures on Martinez's mezzanine._ "

"That's where it is, Grant. You can't see it or remember it. But Quinn can. Her mind wasn't blocked for that." He heard a noise from the other side. "Grant?"

" _Can you come early? Like now?_ "

"I'll do my best." He hung up his cell phone and stared at his girlfriend. "I need a favour..."

...

Exactly at eight o'clock at night, Santana was on the top of Jenny. The vigilante spent part of the morning and afternoon studying. She decided there were plenty of books when Jenny called and said she'd come home from her shopping day. Santana had even forgotten that this was the good side of having a girlfriend: pleasure and companionship. At least it would be like this until their first big fight. She climbed the stairs of Jenny's dorm building and she was shocked to see that girlfriend wearing lingerie. It was time to play.

They lodged in each other's bodies and the clash ended in the bed. Santana sucked one of her girlfriends' breasts while two fingers worked vigorously in and out. The movement made the thumb slide over the highly lubricated clitoris, further enhancing the sensation of pleasure. Santana could see the sweat running on Jenny's body and the way she moaned loudly and her muscles contracted involuntarily, she knew her girlfriend was too close to having the second orgasm of the night.

"Ah, almost, this San, don't stop!"

It was when the cell phone rang, causing Santana to slow down and remove her mouth from her girlfriend's breasts. It wasn't any rang. It was Grant's rang and he only called that particular number when it came to an huge emergency. She stopped the sexual act and left Jenny to look for the cell phone in the clothes discarded on the floor.

"I can't believe you're going to stop to take that shit!" Jenny was almost hysterical. "Santana Lopez, come back here and finish what you have to do or I swear I'll kill you!"

"I need to go, Jenny. I have a job to do." Santana said, already getting dressed.

"Your job is to give me an orgasm!"

"Jenny... it's a call to the vigilante."

"I don't care." She got up from the bed.

Santana sighed. It was all too good to be true. But it seemed as though Jenny knew the secret identity, self-centeredness prevented her from seeing needs above her own. For Santana, between an eminent orgasm and attending the urgent call of a friend, she had the second option. She could have multiple orgasms, but just an opportunity to save a person.

"You can finish it by yourself, Jen. It's not a big deal." Santana replied before finding the device inside the bag with her sunglasses. "Hello? Gen?"

" _Are you busy?_ " Grant asked because of Jenny's complaints he could hear about to drag Santana girlfriend back to bed.

"I am free. What's it?"

" _Need you. It is something of interest to us all. Our safety._ "

"Where?"

" _My apartment. We are waiting for you. Come prepared._ "

Santana immediately began dressing.

"Will it always be like this from now on? Someone call and you run?"

"Sorry, Jen," Santana said as she opened the door. "I can't discuss our relationship now."

She ran out of that dorm. Santana needed to get a backpack and her car keys to go to Grant's apartment.

...

At exactly nine o'clock at night, Beth was in front of the biggest television that had the opportunity to rest her eyes on life. There was a movie on the Disney Channel and she could play at ease with all those cool little dolls that were on the shelf of a shelf. Meanwhile, in the next room, four vigilantes stared intently at Quinn Fabray's drawing. In fact, several of them. There were six white sheets scattered with versions of such a picture written "Truman Moore Is The Man."

"Funny," Santana commented. "I have the impression that I have seen something similar, but I have no idea where."

"Same here." Matt took one of the drawings to see better.

"Believe me." Quinn was impatient. "That picture is in his house."

"Where exactly?" Santana asked. "I won't see it, so I need a better direction."

"I think it's on the left off the shelf."

"Are you sure, Elsa?" Santana pressed.

"I have, and don't call me that."

"What about you?" Santana turned to Grant. "Are you sure there won't be anyone home?"

"Of course I do," Grant replied with the usual security. "Holly is out of town and Martinez will be with his lover today. I know this because he booked the hotel room with his individual credit card."

"Who would say he has a mistress. Martinez and Holly have always struck me as a very solid and happy couple." Matt sat down next to his girlfriend. "Do you know this mistress?" He asked Grant.

"No. Unfortunately it's risky to follow Martinez. You never know if he'll capture your thinking if you get close enough."

Grant turned to the computer screen and looked again at the security footage he had captured from inside the city hall. Everything seemed to be in order.

"Actions need to be synchronized," Grant explained. "Let's try to do everything to be back here at exactly midnight. Artie, Matt and I already know how to get into the city hall. And Santana, you'll be alone, so be careful double. Focus only on what you have to do."

"I won't do anything stupid," Santana said, fuming. "You don't have to talk to me like I'm going to do shit at the first opportunity."

"OK. But remember that Martinez's house has alarms on doors and windows, so make the best exit and enter through the roof. You'll have to use your strength to open the way."

"Understood and that will be no problem. I just don't understand what I have to look for exactly. If it's the picture I can't see or something, like a notebook or something?"

"That I can't tell you. You're going to have to take the chance to look for a clue." Grant wanted to be able to help her better, but that part of the plan came up on an opportunity, and there was no time to do a previous investigation. "Quinn, you'll be our watchtower." He explained the operation of the cell phone again with the lines of security. "Try not contact us. Our time limit is one o'clock in the morning. But from midnight and a half, if we don't make contact, you need to get Mercedes to make the round."

"Round?" Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Is she going to get the car and drive around town?"

"No," Matt smiled. "It means that you have to call the police stations and look for information about recent events. You can turn on the radio with the police line of communication."

"Even because it sucks to go along with the police's general communications channel," Santana grumbled. "Believe me, I've tried."

"OK. But what if it's past one o'clock and you have not appeared or been in touch?"

"So you're going to get Beth, put her in the car and leave this town," Matt made plain. "If we don't get in touch until the deadline means something really bad has happened."

Artie glanced at his watch.

"People, time to go."

The vigilantes, including Quinn, embraced one last fraternization before setting out to risk their skins. Quinn gave Matt a kiss, and when she closed the door. She grabbed the crucifix pendant she always wore and prayed that her classmates would come back safe and sound. Quinn then walked into the television room in Grant's apartment and asked Beth if she would like hot milk before taking a nap on that comfortable couch.

...

It was exactly ten forty-four that night when Santana positioned herself in the woods near Martinez's house in the upper-middle-class neighbourhood of the city. She always liked Martinez's house, but internally. The architecture was conservative and the house resembled several that existed in that same neighbourhood. Santana shook her head. This was no time to think about that kind of project. She looked at the security scheme designed by Grant. Santana mumbled. Her friend was great at math, but he drew very badly. At least she could understand.

She looked at a picture of the painting done by Quinn. She wasn't so bad with the pencil. Maybe if Santana taught some drawing techniques, Quinn would improve substantially. Anyway, what good would it look to that figure if she had a lock on her mind that wouldn't allow her to see? Santana looked at the clock once more and then at the neighbourhood. The side houses were already darkened. There was only one light on the ground floor of the neighbour on the left. Sign that she should act as quietly as possible. A shadow caused by the street lamp was designed well over the point where it planned to open passage through the mezzanine. At least one element of luck that would facilitate camouflage. She waited. She picked up the iPod and selected a song to pass the time and prepare the spirit. Santana chose rap.

"... _O que não é seriado da Fox/ É playboy se acabando no óxi/ Artesanato humilde de durepox/ E antes de pensar em tirar/ Vai tomar no seu cóccix/ E a cada mil metros alguém morre de frio/ E a cada cem metros alguém morre ferido/ E a cada dez metros alguém conta o lixo/ E a cada segundo uma revolta por tudo isso..._ " (1)

When the time came, Santana put on her mask and gloves (she didn't like gloves, but in certain missions they were indispensable). She resisted the urge to leave the iPod on and do all the action with soundtrack, but that was a situation where listening to any and all noise would be critical. She closed her jacket, adjusted her backpack so she wouldn't balance and looked at the clock again. Eleven o'clock.

There was a camera in the yard. Santana knew that the images were recorded in a file inside the house and that the security system wasn't always on. Whatever Grant's surprise element might have been triggered, though apparently it wouldn't make any difference to her. She probed the room once more and, like a cat, rushed up to the roof and reached the mezzanine. She tested the tiles of that part and saw a loose one. Santana used her strength to pluck it and the others around. She kicked the liner down and revealed the darkened room. She didn't hesitate and jumped in. Grant was right: no one was home. But if there was one, and if Holly was alone, maybe she would come in through the front door and be invited in.

Santana waited a short time for her eyes to get accustomed to the pitch. Everything seemed good so far. She picked up a small flashlight in her backpack and turned it on. It seemed to be all in place: the bookcase with part of Martinez's library, the massive wooden coffee table, the armchairs. She smiled at the sight of a painting. A small one with the painting of a landscape that stood on the wall of the entrance door. When the one Quinn claimed existed: nothing. Absolutely nothing. She could only see the bare wall. Checked the shelf. She glanced quickly at the books and opened the drawers. She found two notebooks and checked the contents quickly. They looked like notes between some drawings, small texts, captions, pure and simple scrawls, and the name of Quinn Fabray written. There were his notes on her studies. She picked up the notebook and another with other notes and put them inside the backpack.

Santana needed to think about the picture she wasn't seeing. She put her hand on the wall beside the bookshelf where Quinn made sure it was there. She was surprised to discover an obstacle. She reached across the invisible obstacle. Rectangular, large, could feel well, despite the glove, the relief of the frame. Then she touched the center with her fingertips and could feel the glass. Fascinating. As if it were some magic from the Harry Potter books, the picture began to appear before her eyes. But it was cloudy, smoky. She still couldn't identify the painting right. She started to heel sick, to have a headache. It was the effect that the breaking of a mental block caused. Santana had to sit down for a minute. She was in the middle of a mission and couldn't go wrong. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for one more minute. She stood up and stared at the picture still hazy. She pulled it off the wall and discovered that there was a safe behind it.

"Son of a bitch," Santana whispered.

Santana looked down the bookshelf for any hint of a possible password, but she doubted she would find something so easily. Birthday Dates? The boss wouldn't be so obvious. She took out the notebooks and scanned quickly to see if she could find anything. Nothing. She found an annotated code and tried it. Negative. Santana flipped through a few more pages, looking at Martinez notes in blue, black and red pen. She saw another code and tried it. Negative. She sighed almost defeated. She tried dates of Martinez and Holly's birthdays (even if he was in doubt as to the year of birth). Negative. Getting the safe out was out of the question. How would she break the wall without drawing attention from her neighbours and rushing out, even though she knew she would be perfectly capable of carrying it? It would be very stupid. She tried some names, the anagram of a phrase the boss liked to say. Nada.

Santana punched the safe in frustration. She thought of the most improbable things, like student names and typed "Brittany" at random, since she was about to give up. The panel light turned green. It was about the same time she heard sirens in the distance. Missing too many passwords should trigger alarms. She knew there was such a system, similar to locking the bank card in the third attempt to enter a password. Her heart slammed. She opened the safe. There was a notebook and a pen drive inside. She took them both and stuffed it into her backpack, just like the flashlight still lit. She went downstairs and broke the kitchen window (the alarm had already been triggered) and scaled the side of the house. A cop tried to approach her, but she pushed him hard to open the way and run in the woods.

Santana thought of possible escape routes. At least the ones she could remember. One way or another, she had to keep running. The movement of the police seemed more intense, but not so much as the time when she was persecuted the other night. She left the forest and used the backyard corridors and streets in her favour. She saw that the police couldn't keep track of the route changes by car. But she realized that there was a bizarrely persistent pursuer. She was quick, but he seemed to approach. He was definitely not a normal guy. Santana ran all she could, which was too fast for an ordinary human. The other cop had long ago stayed behind, except for this one. He was approaching and the vigilante could hear the words. So that she would stop in the name of the law. Tried to take the race to a more open course. There was a school there. She jumped the fence in a beautiful, elastic movement that would fill the eyes of any witnesses and entered the soccer field.

The cop was nearby. Five, six steps back. Space good enough to be able to stop, draw the gun and shoot if he wanted to. That's when the vigilante stopped and rolled her arms. She hit the cop's body, which flipped in the air and fell backward onto the lawn. And there he stayed. The vigilante didn't want to stay and risk her luck by confronting a guy who clearly had a superhuman gift, just like her. She ran toward the other fence and jumped it as easily as he had once. She ran all she could between the houses in the residential neighbourhood until he reached a small graveyard. When she realized there was no one else behind, she slowed down and started thinking about getting to Grant's apartment. Santana glanced at her watch. It was past midnight. She removed her mask and gloves and put everything in her backpack. She took off her jacket and handed it to the first homesteader she had found. Santana began to walk the streets, but with caution. And when she thought he was safe, she picked up his cell phone.

"Ice Queen?" She said breathlessly.

" _Santana? You did it?_ "

"It is vigilant when we are in action. Talk when you get there. Any word from the boys?"

" _Not yet. Should I trigger ... Lois Lane?_ " Santana laughed at Quinn's nickname and lack of practice. She glanced at the watch once more.

"No. Wait until the time limit." Santana hung up her cell phone and wished her colleagues luck.

...

Turning back a little in time, when it was exactly ten hours and fifty-two minutes, three guards arrived on the roof of the building with the help of the flying boy. Artie took the computer out of its backpack and sat down on the circular concrete raised by the heliport. Matt and Grant adjusted the headset and microphone before putting the mask on top. Artie accessed the images from the security cameras. He would be the eyes of the other two inside.

"We have to wait until eleven," Grant warned. It was when the little bomb made just to trigger the bank alarm would be triggered. Which meant that an expressive amount of cops would move there. Besides, at eleven o'clock, there would be a shift of vigilantes, a procedure that left the floors unprotected for a few minutes.

"It's happening, Grant. The floor guards are coming down." Artie warned, and Grant nodded.

When it struck eleven o'clock, a bank's alarm system went off and, coincidentally, the city's security cameras crashed. Of course, a good part of the patrols would be moved to the bank, leaving the city hall in the hands of the usual security guards, without reinforcement, with nothing. Outsourced guards would be no match. In a city of 400,000 inhabitants, the city hall wasn't as large and not as protected as that of a metropolis, yet the city had some pomp and exaggeration inherent in the mayor's own personality.

"Now!" Grant ordered and Artie pressed the button.

Suddenly, all the city security monitors were erased. Matt wasn't so attuned to the plan. Everything was explained to him at the last minute, but he tried hard. He used the telekinesis to open the roof door and descended downstairs along with Grant. They went up to the fourth floor of the building that had six. Matt opened the door to the floor with the powers and Grant asked caution before entering the hall. There was a security guard coming up to the floor. They waited for the man to approach, and at the exact moment, like a cat, Grant jumped on the man and immobilized him quickly. Matt dragged the security guard to one of the open offices and closed the door. The two of them walked practically at their fingertips to door 406, which required a password to unlock and a card. Grant arranged a card thanks to Hemon's favours and typed 388670. Green sign. They entered the room and closed the door.

"We are on our own now." Grant whispered and Matt nodded.

The office looked ordinary. The difference was that there was a sitting room with a locked door and a digital safety panel next to it. Matt was already analysing a way to open the door, but Grant drew attention to a detail that the fellow vigilante hadn't paid attention to. He picked up a mirror and peered under the door. There were red lights. Motion sensors. The code served to turn off security and Grant had a clue what the password would be. But there was a lot to do in that room. Grant called one of the computers and checked the files to copy them.

"You see that, flying?" Grant said over the radio.

" _Zoom in on the camera a little bit._ " He heard the colleague's response from the roof. " _Not so much. Back off a bit... this_. Access the PSP2010 folder..." Grant complied and saw subfolders named after government security programs.

"I'm going to copy it."

" _Of course..._ "

Grant was sure that everyone would be encrypted or locked by password, but his job wouldn't be to decode them at that moment. Meanwhile, Matt worked at the door. With the help of the telekinesis he visualized the inner pins and tried to remove them. Which was complicated because his power depended heavily on mental strength and visualization. It was easier when he stared.

The door moved by itself, as a result of the action of Matt's powers. The mental strain was so great that he began to feel dizzy, but gradually the door loosened and Matt did his best to tilt it slowly. Grant approached to help while the files were being transferred to the portable HD.

"Try to bring the door for me to try to hold."

Matt felt his nose bleed. The door was heavy for him, but he continued to do his best. Then they heard heavy footsteps down the corridor and screamed.

" _They've reconnected the security system,_ " Artie warned on the radio.

Matt lost his concentration and let the door and the pins fall. The siren fired. Though his friend put on a mask, Grant could imagine the expression of panic. In fact, the wide eyes were denunciatory.

"Flying" He shouted at the radio. "It's time to fly."

" _Where?_ "

"Pick us up at the window."

"What?"

Grant picked up a chair and threw it against the closed window, partially shattering it. Then he took the HD and slipped it into his pocket, unplugging it from the computer anyway.

"Stud, help me with this table."

They threw up the table and posted it in front of the door, gaining a few precious seconds. Matt used the telekinesis to break the rest of the glass and minimize bruising. They hung on the edge and saw his friend flying toward them. Artie held each one in one arm, but the truth was that he wasn't strong enough to fly with two people at the same time for a long time. At least it was enough to get down on the next block. Grant figured it out and hurried away. Matt's landing was not so smooth. He rolled onto the floor beside a group of people and ran awkwardly until he could pick up the pace. He tried to get the difference between him and Grant, but he also saw the police approaching. He gestured with his arm, as if pushing something invisible. The police car swerved sideways, enough for the guard to lose control and skid. The patrol immediately behind reached Matt. The cops prepared to shoot, but the flyer grabbed him under his arms and pulled him up. The cop dropped his chin in front of the scene. He had never seen anyone fly by himself.

Artie tried to hold Matt as close as possible to the meeting place. In a last effort, he managed to get near the warehouse in a place almost abandoned and of little movement without being noticed by unwanted witnesses. Matt saw how exhausted the flyer was, so he picked it up and carried it into his arms. He went into an alley. He got rid of the mask and gloves. He glanced at his watch. It was almost midnight. Then he picked up his cell phone.

" _Matt!_ " He heard Quinn's voice. " _Are you alright? What did you guys get ready for?_ "

"It's Stud. We're safe. Flying and me. We're going there. Let's try to reach out as civilians."

" _OK. Vigilante said she was on her way, but ... ah, please, I don't know your codenames ... Grant has not yet contacted._ "

"Wait a little longer, okay?"

He turned off his cell phone. The two got out of their jackets and Matt caught Artie on his lap. The friend was not that light and Matt didn't have the physical strength of Santana. It wasn't so simple to walk a great distance like that, but it would do his best.

"We are far from the place you left your chair. Sorry."

"It's all right. The important thing is to get to Grant's house."

In some places Matt carried Artie. In others, when there was no one. Artie was holding Matt and flying. In almost half an hour, near one o'clock, they arrived at the building. Quinn answered the door and immediately hugged her boyfriend. She was worried. Santana was already there.

"Where's Grant?" Santana asked and opened the way for Artie to float to the sofa.

"Hasn't he come yet?" Matt closed the apartment door and rubbed his face.

"Should I call Mercedes?" Quinn looked lost.

"Beth's in the TV room?" Matt interrupted his girlfriend.

"She's sleeping. Why?"

"The television..."

"No need" Artie took the computer from the backpack and waited a few minutes until he could access the local news.

The four of them approached to see and hear the urgent news on that little screen. There were pictures of a helicopter, the same as they could hear in the distance, which transmitted aerial images of the police drive to the hunt for the bandits who invaded the city hall. Five minutes later, they heard a knock on the door. Matt and Santana were immediately on alert, ready to attack. Quinn looked at the two vigilantes and checked the magic eye. It was Grant. She opened the door immediately and the owner entered without the mask. One hand pressed against his left shoulder. He took four steps before being supported by Santana, who stared at the blood on his friend's shoulder.

"Don't worry." He smiled faintly. "It's just a scratch."

"We need Brittany," Matt said urgently.

"No!" Santana said loudly as she worked to remove his friend's shirt and thus to see better the size of the wound.

"Why can't we call Brittany?" Quinn frowned.

"Because I'm almost sure she's Martinez's mistress," Santana answered urgently. "There was a safe behind the picture invisible to us. The password that opened this safe is 'Brittany'. Connect the dots."

"Grant?" Matt drew attention to his friend grunting in pain. Quinn took a cloth to press the place as Artie prepared to contact the healer.

"He's probably knows by now what we did," he argued. "What difference it does?"

"Tell her to come by herself." Santana pointed out and Artie nodded already by dialling the security line number.

...

Just at ten-fifty, Brittany was naked, lying next to Martinez. She was catching her breath after the first round of sex. Obviously sex was an extremely physical activity, but Martinez took advantage of the fact that she was a very flexible dancer to experience positions that his wife had no possibility or disposition. Such experiments didn't always result in Brittany's pleasure, but she always left convinced that she had had an orgasm and that Martinez was the best lover in the world.

" _Again._ " Martinez said imperiously using telepathy. " _I'm ready. I want you from behind this time._ "

Brittany smiled. She always smiled at the lover.

" _Stand up_ ," Martinez ordered. He snapped behind Brittany and made her curl up, resting her hands on the edge of the bed.

Martinez pushed her buttocks aside and applied lube. Then he penetrated her quickly and vigorously. What was heard in that room were the groans and the slapt, slapt, slapt sound produced by the movement of the thrusts. That's when the phone rang. Martinez ignored it. He was about to cum and wouldn't stop for nothing in the world. He continued the intercourse until he ejaculated inside, lost in in pleasurable sensations brought about by orgasm. Martinez withdrew his penis, stroked Brittany's back quickly, and with his semireto penis he finally saw the message that was left after the unanswered call. When he read the message, he became nervous.

"I have to go," he said.

"Now?"

"I'll call you when I can," he said, already pulling on his pants.

Brittany watched her lover hurry out of the hotel room already talking to someone on the cell phone. She thought that something serious could have happened and frowned. She had an uneasy feeling that all the sex she had that night didn't bring her exactly pleasure, which was odd. Martinez didn't have time to make her think she had orgasms.

The room rate of the hotel room was always paid in advance, so Brittany did not rush into a shower and dress herself down. He told the administrator that he was leaving. The man always looked at her with perversity and made insinuations. Brittany simply ignored him. She just wanted to go home. That's when her cell phone rang. It was Santana's number. She sighed assuming the vigilante had gotten into another mess and that was why Martinez was so nervous. She wasn't that far wrong.

"What is it, San?" Brittany answered.

" _I need your help. Urgent. Do you know where Grant lives?_ "

Brittany arrived at the apartment in 15 minutes. It was late at night, and she looked tired. Everyone was tired and creeped out. Santana and Quinn spent the last fifteen minutes arguing between risking improvised surgery or taking Grant to the hospital. But no one there had training beyond first aid. Brittany looked at the group and then at Grant stretched out on the rug. Without a word, she pushed away Quinn's hands and cloth to press the wound. She took a deep breath and concentrated. The familiar blue light came up. The bullet was expelled and the wound slowly closed. It was always an incredible sight to see. For Quinn, healing in those dimensions was new. Grant breathed a sigh of relief and Matt helped him sit down. The first student was dizzy and weak.

" What did you get in?" Brittany finally questioned. She was clearly angry.

"Did you tell the boss you came here?" Artie asked.

"No... I haven't been with the boss..."

"We know who your secret boyfriend is, Britt." Santana said in disgust. "No need to disguise. This is disgusting. Riding Martinez's cock? Come on!"

Brittany sat down on the couch and was silent, once again feeling the guilt that the relationship was carrying. Nobody dreams of being someone's mistress. It just happens.

"No one here is in a position to judge you. Okay?" Quinn took her friend's hand. "And you can't say anything, Santana." They exchanged glances. Quinn knew of her friend's love for Rachel Berry, a young woman in a long relationship with someone else.

"Okay, guys," Matt pointed out. "Let's focus on the problem here. Britt? Does Martinez really don't know you came here? "

"No. We were together when they phoned him. He left. The city is crazy. The the city hall is isolated. What did you do?"

"Brittany, Martinez is not who you think he is." Quinn took the speech, since she was more likely to say what she thought by the obvious lack of blockades. "Martinez and the Boss are the same person and he's using us all for something bad."

"Are you crazy, Quinn?" Brittany denied what she felt (or was conditioned to feel). "Martinez and the Boss... they..." Mental confusion also hit Brittany so she needed to be trimmed down by Santana. It was a terrible feeling that made her nauseous.

"Take a deep breath." Santana said quietly, softly. "We all go through this. Just take a deep breath."

"No... you don't understand..." Brittany walked away from her friend. "So what if they are the same person?"

"What's the problem?" Santana questioned. "Brittany, if there were no problems, why did he implant mental blocks in us? It certainly wasn't meant to protect us. It was just to protect himself."

"You are wrong. Martinez is a wonderful person and he will know that you all have turned your backs on him."

"You're not going to leave like this..." Matt protested.

"No! Let her go." Grant spoke in a thoughtful voice. "Britt, thank you for your kindness. But if you don't believe on us, just tell Martinez we have proof. Say that his silence is our silence, but that our relationships are over. Thank you, Britt. Thank you very much. But we'll have to stop talking with each other until all this is clear."

She nodded and slowly walked toward the door. Brittany wasn't to quarrel with anyone. And because she was so nice to everyone, she expected the same treatment. When she didn't receive it, especially when the friends she trusted didn't, it was as if she were stabbed in the chest. Her sadness made the others feel guilty and also sad about the situation. But it was necessary and necessary, at least for now.

...

The vigilantes were silent when Brittany left. They didn't want it to be like this. Brittany was loved by all, but it wouldn't do any good for them to spend their time trying to convince her when they had too much work to do. Brittany would have a difficult time, but they couldn't help her at that very moment.

"Do we have proof?"

"I still don't know. What have you got?"

"A diary and a pendrive." Santana took the material from her backpack. "And two notebooks."

"Artie, you need to make copies and send all the electronic material to Hemon as quickly as possible. Use safe means. Already the original notebooks and diary need to be hidden in a safe place because I know the boss and he will try to recover everything. But I can't imagine anyone trustworthy."

"I have someone," Santana said. "It's somebody the boss tried to erase memories and couldn't. And best of all: he doesn't know that."

"Rachel Berry?" Quinn jumped off the couch. "Are you crazy?"

"My story with Rachel is complicated, I'll admit. But I can trust my life to her. If I ask to hide this material and not tell me where, I know she will do it without hesitation. Besides, she was the only person I know who has concrete resistance to his power."

"No way. You can't wrap it up! Rachel is already paying a heavy price for getting involved with you."

"That's precisely why Rachel is our best bet. She knows about me, she knows there are others, she remembers Brittany healing me from that shot, she was called by the police on two occasions and she never betrayed me. I know this is asking a lot, but does anyone have a better suggestion?"

Santana waited for the "vote" of the other vigilantes.

...

...

(1) Cóccix-ência, by Criolo

" _What is not a Fox series/ It's playboy running out of oxy/ Humble craftsmanship of durepox/ And before you think about taking/ It will take on your coccyx/ And every thousand meters someone dies of cold/ And every hundred yards someone dies injured/ And every ten meters someone counts the garbage/ And every second a revolt for all this"_

Criolo is one of the main names of Brazilian rap of the present time. Unlike other rappers, Criolo is a good singer and this makes him take a successful stance in other musical genres, especially samba. Another cool feature of Criolo is that his music is very organic, made with an actual band and a DJ. Particularly, I think that the rap made with real musical instruments, without sampling every single thing, has much better results.


	20. What did you do last night?

_Guest: This fic is really, the only bad thing is tha is not Quinntana the endgame. Thank you so much._

 _Thank you, guest. No, this fic is definitely Pezberry. By the way, the only Pezberry fic I wrote. The fic of mine that most contains Quinntana was a crossover I wrote between Harry Potter and Glee, which goes by the time the Harry Potter's kids are in Hogwarts. This fic is only in Portuguese, but I can readapt it to English soon._

…

…

Rachel got up at six in the morning on Monday, as was usual on weekdays when she attended community college. She did the usual stretches. First the arms and then the legs. She grabbed the towel, left the room, and crossed her best friend along the way. He used to get up early as well. Rachel had a light shower, did the hygiene and returned to the room wrapped in the towel. She chose a sweater and a fitted skirt and a Nike sneaker. She combed her hair and left the room humming, then she met Kurt in front of the television, drinking tea in his mug and chewing some toast.

"Wake up well today."

"I slept like a rock. Never been better."

"Looks like your friend also had a great night." Kurt pointed to the TV screen.

Rachel stopped in front of the appliance and listened to the news that said final lines about the robberies of documents of the city and an assault to the house of an important public prosecutor of the city. The police's speculation was that the events were related since they happened in married hours. Three cops had minor injuries in the pursuit of this one that was definitely a gang of masked vigilantes. Two of them were in a vehicle chasing the suspects and the other chased the assailant from the prosecutor's house.

Rachel was worried about the news and wanted to call Santana immediately. She forgot breakfast and left the house.

" _Rachel?_ " she heard the familiar voice, though tired, on the other side. " _You're the one I wanted to talk to._ "

"Santana, what happened yesterday? Please, tell me."

" _I will, but not by telephone. I need to find you, but in a neutral and safe place._ "

"Neutral and safe?" Rachel's heart raced. Maybe Santana finally got into something very serious this time. He thought for a moment and only one possible place came to mind. "In my parent's house."

" _I said neutral, Rachel._ "

"Then go to the theater. There's no one there and I have a copy of the door key. I'm going be there."

" _Perfect._ "

Rachel hung up the phone. She picked up Finn's routine ride to community college. She kissed her boyfriend before she got out of the car and entered talking to Kurt, as she always did. But instead of entering her classroom, Rachel left the building and took the only bus line in town to get to the community theater. She got off at the nearest bus stop and walked a block. Rachel had the key to the side door, which had direct access to the theater aisle. She knew there would be no one at that time in the theater. The first employee, the janitor, only worked there three times a week in the afternoon.

Rachel wondered whether she expected Santana from inside or outside the theater. She chose the first option, because she thought she might raise suspicions staying outside. She turned on the lights in the backstage corridors and the women's dressing room. Rachel didn't have to wait long. Santana came in almost at once in a black T-shirt, loose-fitting pants, and the damn heavy hiking shoes in the woods, in addition to her usual black backpack. They were vigilante clothes in broad daylight.

"What did you guys get up to last night?" Rachel fired when she saw her friend.

"Hi to you too, Rachel." Santana smiled awkwardly.

Just then Rachel noticed that not only did Santana look tired and depressed, there were blood stains on her clothes and arms.

"Santana... did you get hurt?" Rachel touched the guard's arm.

"The blood is not mine."

"So you were really involved in yesterday's mess!" Rachel didn't know if she screamed, beat, or resisted the frustration she felt about the watchman.

"Yes. That's why I'm here... in part. Rachel I told you more than a thousand times that I didn't want to get you involved, so I got you into trouble in the end. I swear it was unintentional. But now I'm here before you to ask if you want more trouble."

"You know you can trust me, Santana."

"Not only that, Rachel. I'm asking you if you really want to get involved. Because if you accept, you won't get back. "

"What trouble did you get involved in, Santana?" Rachel folded her arms. "What did you go to do at the city hall?"

"I haven't been to the city hall. But whoever... wasn't to do anything the media is accusing them of... I mean, we act to steal things, but I can guarantee it was for a fair reason."

"Okay." Rachel continued her stiff posture in front of the guard. "If I do, I'll want to know everything, Santana. Who are the vigilantes and what are you doing. You won't be able to hide anything to me anymore."

"But you also need to weigh the risks. If you accept, the cops will be the least of your problems. That's why you should take some time to think. You don' have to give me an answer now..."

"My answer is yes!" Rachel ran over Santana's speech. "I accept the risk. But you're going to have to tell me everything. Starting now." Rachel sat down in a chair.

"Are you sure you do not want..."

"Santana! Now! Start by telling what you and your colleagues were doing at City Hall."

"I didn't go to the city hall. I stole Holly Perez's house. Not because of her. Martinez, her husband, he's just like me. In fact, he is the guy who taught us how to deal with our powers. I, Grant, Matt, Brittany, Artie and, more recently, Quinn."

"What?" Rachel jumped out of the chair and didn't bother to tone down. I knew she and Santana were alone. "You're telling me half the cast... and Quinn? Quinn Fabray?"

"Yes, Quinn Fabray. With the exception of Grant, everyone is in this blessed place. Cool huh?"

"Was that why you auditioned to perform in Tropicália?"

"No. That was a coincidence. Apart from Grant and Brittany, who were born and raised here, we've all come from different places and met here. When I auditioned, I barely knew Matt and Brittany. I met Quinn here. It was a coincidence. Really. Martinez met us. He's a telepath, Rachel, and he has some strange mental powers. It was he who tried to erase your memory that day and failed. The most he could do was make you faint and implant a story in Artie's head."

"You mean Artie never came looking for me that day?"

"No. He and Brittany took you home and the Boss did his job."

"Boss or Martinez?" Rachel asked and was amazed to see the vigilante's funny reaction. Santana was confused. As if he wanted to say something and could not remember the words.

"Both..." As she couldn't finish the sentence, Santana gestured. She was beginning to feel headaches and was annoyed by it. Until when would she be nauseated whenever she confronted some mental blockade placed by Martinez?

"Let's play mime now, Santana?"

"Martinez and the Boss... they..." and gestured.

"Are they together?" Or seeing Santana's refusal, Rachel ventured another guess. "Are they the same person?"

"That!" Santana seemed to breathe.

"Why didn't you say so?"

"Because I couldn't, Rachel. Because of a mental barrier he put in me... in all of us. Matt was the first to understand this. The boss was always very strict and he trained us to be able to use our abilities for a greater good and even tested us on some missions to capture people and things like that. None of this came to light. Martinez... he was kind, supported us. We would sit on that mezzanine and he would test us. Sometimes we were examined by a doctor. But the boss, he detested me. He hated me even more when I decided to take action on my own."

"Was that when you became the vigilante?"

"Yes. I didn't see much point in training and doing only what he commanded when there were so many who needed help. The common citizen, you know? The first time I acted on my own, I was going to meet Jenny and saw a guy assaulting an eight-year-old! I picked up the guy and returned the cell phone to the boy. It sounds silly, but it made me feel really good. The Boss wears a mask all the time and made us wear masks when we acted at his command. I continued with this idea and made some kind of uniform. Something that had nothing to do with what I like to wear day in and day out."

"And the voice altered?"

"It was something simple to do. Artie adapted a device used to distort voice into microphones. I fixed it on my mask. It hurts my lips a little if I talk much, but it was worth it. My voice sounds very strange, but everyone thinks I'm a man, which further protected my identity... at least until the bridge event."

"What about the pedophile case you solved?"

"That's when I saw a man paid a 12 years-old prostituted girl. There wasn't much I could do for the girl at that moment. So I investigated the guy with some Artie's help. We haked his computer and it disgusted us! We found the guys who shared those filthy files, including that politician. And the day I got all the necessary evidence together, I did that. It was a beating that I loved to apply. In them and in Howard Battes."

"What did the Boss say about all this?"

"He got stressed. Thinking I would ruin everything, especially as the media began to report. But he didn't exactly try to stop me until the day we saved Angelina. Artie, Matt, Grant and me. Grant knew about her house and summoned us. Boss disapproved of what we did and acted to take our attention from the case. I just started to understand why on the day I saved a professor that was working in the prefecture from running in a dark alley. This guy was Angelina's lover and was scheduled to die after he discovered misappropriation at City Hall. The one responsible for a phantom security program that the city was paying her was a guy named Truman Moore."

"The adult cartoon character?"

"Do you know that?"

"Finn and Puck..."

"Anyway, we will expose the whole scheme of the city, for sure. Grant will send copies of this material to some journalists, especially one named Sue Sylvester. She's famous for that sort of thing."

"What about the original material?"

"We will send it to the federal police when the time is right. The problem is still the boss. There is no reference to his name in the files we find in the town hall. And what he wrote in those diaries will expose us all. We'll have to deal with the Boss in a different way. What we do know is that he will come after us and that diary is the only surety proof we have against him. That's where you come in. If anything happens to us, we need you to send this diary to Sue Sylvester." Santana handed the diary to Rachel. "I can assure you that we will do what is possible and impossible to keep you away."

"Santana, don't think I've changed my mind... I just want to know why?"

"Because I trust you. And because you and Quinn are apparently the only people who have resisted the Boss's mental invasion. Grant and I have some resistance, he more than I do, so we'll do everything to keep our thoughts locked."

"Ok. thank you for your confidence. Out of curiosity, what can others do?"

"Brittany is the one who healed me that day. Quinn is literally the icy queen. She can make instant cold teas. Grant has a mathematical power. Let's say I, with all my speed and strength, can hardly hit him. Matt has telekinesis, and Artie can fly... just upright, but he's our Flying."

"This is amazing. Now I understand why you made a mess in town last night. I can't blame you."

"Thanks."

"But whose blood is this, if it is not yours?"

"Grant was hurt, which reminds me of something. In today's rehearsal, don't comment on Brittany at all, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because she's not on our side. She's Martinez's lover."

Rachel was shocked for a moment. She wouldn't have imagined sweet Brittany being able to get involved with a married man. In any case, Rachel agreed. She looked at the diary in her hands and then glared at the attendant. He touched Santana's arm, brought her body closer and she pulled Santana to a kiss on the lips.

"Rachel..." Santana opened her eyes as soon as the contact was broken. "We can't fall into old habits."

"I know... but I can't help myself."

Rachel kissed Santana once more, this time overpowering the situation, causing the vigilante to ask for some air when breaking the kiss.

"Why can't I stay away from you? It would be perfect if I could have you and him."

"Perfect just for you, Rachel. I don't know how to share."

"Neither do I." Rachel stepped away from Santana and took both of her hands. "I hate to see you with Jenny. I hate to know she has something I've never had a chance to have."

"Rachel... we can't mix these things. Please."

Rachel took a step back from Santana and nodded. She took the diary and put it in the bag. She knew exactly where to hide it.

...

The more Rachel flipped through that diary, the more she was shocked and understood why that material was a powerful weapon against Martinez. If this information were to fall into the hands of the psychologist's natural enemies, it could be the end of him. Unfortunately, that information would also bring disgrace to all other vigilantes. There was a good place to hide the diary. As soon as she left the theater, she took a bus to the bastardly neighbourhood and walked the rest of the way to her parents' house. Leroy was frightened to see his daughter at the door.

"Hello, Daddy," she said, tired of the already exhausting day.

"Rachel!" Despite the joy of seeing her daughter, he was surprised by her presence. "Did something happen?"

"No. I just missed you." Which wasn't a lie.

Reviewing the parents after years when Rachel needed to help the wounded ankle guard was exciting for the little diva. There, at that moment, Santana was indirectly responsible for Rachel's return to her dad's house once more. But the diva wasn't complaining. How many times had she wanted to go to them and stay in the corner of her room, still, knowing that the parents were there to protect her? But pride had never allowed her to go back until the vigilante advent. Finn also never encouraged her to react with her parents. In a way, it was very convenient for him to keep her dependent on a family bond along with the Hummel-Hudson. But Rachel broke off again with such a cycle.

Leroy hugged his daughter with all his love. It was unbelievable to have her in his arms twice in less than a month.

"Come in, Rach. I was planning on ordering something to eat, but now I even set about preparing some tasty food for you. You're staying for lunch, aren't you?"

"Of course, Daddy. I'll stay here until it's time to go to the rehearsal."

"What about your job?"

"The restaurant is closed on Mondays. So, I can stay here with you a little longer."

"Great!"

Rachel smiled and nodded. They went to the kitchen. Rachel also missed being a cook with her father. Leroy was fun, he could tell a joke, and they talked a lot about music. Leroy could be just a jingles composer, but his knowledge of music was enormous, as well as being a multi-instrumentalist. He played guitar, drums, bass, but his favourite instrument was the piano. He always played for Rachel singing and always taught her to admire the good music first, no matter if it was classical or a current pop. Leroy was also a great connoisseur of vegan food and knew how to leave any vegetable, even broccoli, looking appetizing.

After lunch and having a good laugh with her father, Rachel went into her old bedroom. It was amazing that everything was kept clean and in place. Everything Rachel hadn't taken was still there, even her clothes, which were washed from time to time so they wouldn't have the strong smell of dust. Rachel opened one of the drawers and was not surprised to see that everything was in place, including an old notebook. She took out a pen and an envelope and decided to write a note of the type: in case something happens.

She wrapped her diary in a plastic bag. She sealed it with tape and removed a brick from the fireplace that didn't work. she took out an old diary, written by an impassioned and innocent teenager. Still a virgin. She replaced a notebook with the other and replaced the brick. She sat on the bed and removed the plastic bag from the old diary. She flipped through the pink pages, written in a ballpoint pen of various colours. It had candy papers that at that time seemed to be the most important thing in the world to keep. She shook her head in a mixture of longing and shame. How silly and dreamy she was. How happy she was. Life had never been so easy.

"Rachel, could you give me an opinion?"

"Sure, daddy."

She went to her father's studio in the basement of the house. That used to be one of her favourite places. in the midst of dust and the chaos of wires from musical instruments and recording tables, there were music books, vinyl records, K7 tapes, CDs of every kind of artist. Leroy showed her daughter in the jungle where she was working for a grocery advertisement. It had no lyrics, but the melody seemed to be pretty and dynamic.

Am followed, a low blow: Leroy started playing his and Rachel's music e sang to his daughter.

" _Acabou chorare, ficou tudo lindo/ De manhã cedinho, tudo cá cá cá, na fé fé fé/ No bu bu li li, no bu bu li lindo/ No bu bu bolindo/ No bu bu bolindo/ No bu bu bolindo/ Talvez pelo buraquinho, invadiu-me a casa, me acordou na cama/ Tomou o meu coração e sentou na minha mão/ Abelha, abelhinha..._ " (1)

Rachel started to cry and hugged her father. The world was falling apart, she was never so confused about personal and loving life, danger probed her and she had many sorrows to solve. But suddenly, when her father sang their song, which he always sang to put her to bed or when she was sad, it was as if she had found the protective cave again. The more she cried, the more her eyes burned.

"Honey, is everything okay?" Leroy lifted his daughter's chin, and when she opened her eyes, she was frightened. "Your eyes, Rachel. They are red."

"I'm just too tired, daddy." Rachel closed her eyes.

"Are you and that boyfriend of yours alright?"

"Yes, but…"

"But?"

"I think I'm falling hard for another person, daddy." Rachel cried. "Finn and I should be forever, but Santana ruined everything."

"Are you falling for that injured girl you brought home that night?"

"Yes, and I don't know what to do. I love Finn, but I want her so much. I don't know, daddy. Finn is easy, he's solid, he loves me. Santana is so uncertain. What should I do?"

"You're young, honey. So young. Nothing in your life should be definitive. You should feel free to fly, my little girl. You should allow yourself."

Leroy nursed Rachel, hummed to his daughter and held her in his arms until she felt strong again to stand and walk with her head held high, as he and Hiram had always taught her to do. Rachel said goodbye to Leroy at the end of the afternoon. She thanked him for lunch and promised to come back another day to have dinner with him and Hiram.

…

Rachel returned to the theater when Kurt was already there. She waved to his friend. The divergence of ideas had created some detachment between the two in the last few months. A situation that wasn't without suffering for Rachel, since she missed being able to vent with her friend.

When Finn arrived, she kissed her boyfriend and hugged him quickly. The gesture was colder than she had intended and this didn't go unnoticed by Finn. Rachel turned her face away and avoided looking at him. There were few issues Rachel left with Finn out: the fight with her parents years ago, the annual gynecological follow-up, and the relationship with the vigilante. The fact that she felt more and more attracted to Santana to the point that she could hardly disguise was also a point that Rachel certainly wouldn't discuss with her boyfriend.

She passed Brittany and ended up greeting her coldly. All the other vigilantes were cold with her too. When Rachel went to talk to Quinn in a quiet corner, she took her friend's hand and smiled.

"I know everything," Rachel whispered.

"Alright." Quinn replied with some rigidity. "But know that I was a defeated vote."

"I will be fine."

"You have no idea of the danger you're getting into."

Rachel nodded. Yes, she knew there were many risks, but being part of something special made her special too, right?

Santana was the last to appear in the theater. Rachel watched her and found it interesting how Vigilante and Santana Lopez seemed to be two completely different people. The most bizarre of all is that Rachel was attracted to both.

The rehearsal was another fiasco. Schuester didn't know how to do it so that a fragmented and amateur cast could be professional once in a lifetime. Or maybe if he didn't take the part himself so seriously things could be seen differently. But he had a public budget thanks to Burt Hummel's lobby. He needed to do it well. But he had to admit that he chose the wrong cast. The college students, especially Santana, were terrible choices. Schuester should learn that singing well didn't mean acting well or be professional. At the end of the rehearsal, Finn decided to confront Santana in front of everybody.

"Why are you still here if you clearly don't care about this play?"

"I care about this play, Finept, or I wouldn't mind coming. I just have too many things on my mind. Don't stand on my feet."

"Your character doesn't make that much difference. You should go."

"Finn..." Rachel reached for her boyfriend. "Leave her alone."

"Not when she's compromising our project, our dream!"

As much as Santana hated Finn Hudson, no matter how jealous she felt to know that Rachel was dating and having sex with that man, there was in him a sense of integrity and truth. Not even Santana could deny that Finn cared about that project, while for her the theater and the songs were nothing but a pastime. Besides, she was in the midst of a matter of life and death.

"Maybe your sweetheart is right, Berry." Santana looked at the audience who witnessed the discussion. "I'm getting out of you way and I'm sorry I didn't do it any longer. Pillsbury, Schuester... Guys... I'm out."

Rachel saw the vigilante leaving the theater. Santana wasn't really going away: she had to wait for Artie and Mercedes.

"OK people. I want to know if it's possible to schedule an extra rehearsal tomorrow. Mercedes, can you take on Santana's lines?"

"Sure, Schue."

As the cast gathered to know what to do, Rachel followed Santana, who sat on the hood of her car to wait for her friends.

"The rehearsal was bad, but you don't have to leave, Santana."

"Grant sent the files. This shit is going to burst at any moment and I'm going to have to be careful. It doesn't mean we're going to stop seeing us, Rachel."

"Are you sure?'

"Someone needs to divert their minds a little from that whole shit. They need this distraction."

"You too."

"I can't, Rachel. Because first of all I need to keep him away from you!"

"Are you sure?"

Santana gave a small smile. It was two hard days and she was too tired. Rachel wanted to hug her, comfort her, but she was afraid that Finn would see them.

"Rachel!" Kurt called her best friend. "We have to discuss something here."

Rachel came in immediately leaving Santana and Kurt momentarily alone. They did not like each other either, but they had some respect for each other.

"I just want to say you did it right."

Kurt said before entering the room and closing the door. Santana was alone in the dark parking lot of the theater. She got in the car, leaned on the bench waiting for her best friends, and hummed herself.

…

…

(1) Acabou Chorare, by Novos Baianos (Moraes Moreira)

" _The crying is over, everything is beautiful / Early in the morning…_ "

Novos Baianos was a hippie band that released Acabou Chorare in 1972: the one that is considered the best Brazilian record of all time. On the single "Acabou Chorare", the musician João Gilberto liked to go to the farm where they lived as a hippie community to smoke marijuana and play some music with them. One day, he took his daughter, Bebel Gilberto, to play in the farm with the children that lived there. Bebel was stung by a bee. She was comforted by her father, who kept saying: Acabou chorare, acabou chorare (the crying is over). "Chorare" was the peculiar way João Gilberto used to say "choro" (cry). Moraes Moreira, who was one of the vocalists of the Novos Baianos, observing the scene, made a lullaby, which ended up naming the album.

Search: Acabou chorare novos baianos (Pay attention to time, because it will show results of both the entire album and the music ... although listening to the whole album would be cool. It's very good)


	21. Rachel's eyes

The news was rife with the leak of information proving fraud by the city. Leaked those that were published with the 'signature' of the vigilantes. Or rather, Misfits League, as Grant unilaterally baptized the group. Sue Sylvester was in town making a full impact not only of the shenanigans who were about to overthrow the mayor, but also of the confirmation that there was even a group of vigilantes with superhuman powers working in that city that housed one of the most respected universities in the country. The population was divided between accepting those elements as altruistic beings or labeling them as criminals. The only thing close to consensus was that the mayor's situation was unsustainable and that he was under great pressure to resign.

As the nationwide news outlets echoed the scandal, Grant watched their conquest. A model who participated in a promotional event in the city. It was a tense moment, but he couldn't help playing the role of the son of an illustrious lawyer: the most influential of the region who had major clients. On the night of that Wednesday, he attended an event of a farmer who was a client of his father in the nearby town. It was there that he met the model and spent the night with her. She was a beautiful woman, three years older, redheaded, sculptural body, full lips and great flexibility. Could he fall in love? Grant shook his head. The gift that brought him numerous benefits also brought a curse: he couldn't get romantically involved. He wasn't like Matt or Santana, in love with Quinn and Rachel respectively. No, he wasn't like that. He thought he was too logical to be passionate. But that didn't stop him from making some attempts and having casual nights to get physical pleasure in a warm body.

"Can I use your shower?" The model said seductively as he thought about making breakfast.

"Of course."

"Won't you come along?"

"Make yourself comfortable." He smiled gallantly and pulled on his underwear.

He walked through the apartment in the noble area of the city, which was not large but well decorated in neutral furniture. It was a graduation gift from his father when Grant became a lawyer and started working in the firm. Grant made his own breakfast and tried to control the anxiety of getting rid of the company and being able to work in peace. There was so much to do. He waited for Hemon's answers about the city's encrypted information that he hadn't been able to decode, and he still needed to study the observations of Martinez's notebooks. He also had a copy of the diary, which he read calmly, like a bedside book. Everyone read parts of the diary that fateful night and knew what Martinez really thought about each other, about the blockades he put in the students and how to deal with each one of them.

He thought of Santana in particular. It was a shock knowing that Martinez really planned to kill her. But he didn't say how he meant to do that or when. It was what Grant feared. The fact that he couldn't fall in love with people didn't mean that Grant didn't care about them. And the fact is that he admired Santana Lopez. Maybe he was a fan.

"Oh, you made coffee!" The model smiled.

"Feel free."

They had the meal between periods of silence and ordinary conversations. It was a relief when the model said good-bye, hitchhiking, but charging for a return call. It was a promise Grant would not keep. He rarely did. He exercised on the bar, did crunches, crunches before sitting down at the computer with his reading glasses on his face. The phone rang. It wasn't any call.

"Martinez," he answered the call. "To what do I owe honor?"

" _Grant. Why the tone of irony? Can't I call my protege?_ "

"Why are you calling?"

" _I can't?_ "

"Despite everything that happened, I respect you a lot, Martinez. You're like a second father to me. By the connection we have, by the respect between us, I ask you to be direct. You've always been with me and little dodges are not part of it."

" _Yes, Grant. The feeling is reciprocal. It's that same respect that makes me call instead of going over there and ripping off some things without asking._ "

"You can try… but what do you want?"

" _I need to get back what she stole from my house._ "

"She?"

" _I know my students very well. But I think by now you know how much. You invaded the city hall. You were with Artie, according to reports, and Matt because of the cleanup on the raid. She went over to my house and I saw that through the hole in my roof. Matt doesn't have the ability to climb like her, nor does he have the speed. A cop said the fugitive was exceptionally swift, like an explosion runner, but with the breath of a founder. You can have the notebooks and the pendrive, but my journal is valuable to me, and I ask you politely to give me back. You owe me._ "

"Why do you think I would do that? When I know what you wanted to do to me, the contempt and how you planned to use the others."

" _I know you don't need my things anymore, you've already backed up._ _I agree to share this information, but I really need my journal. I ask you in peace, at the mercy of your own choices, and I still can keep the cops off from your heels._ "

"I'm curious. How do you want to keep the cops off our heels?"

" _She... she's a problem. And the mayor will be very pleased to present to society the culprit for all confusion. It will be a compensation. The mayor will fall, but the vigilante also falls. Come on Grant, it's not such a difficult deal. You, as their new leader, will know how to handle the problem._ "

"She's my leader."

" _Bullshit_."

"What if I don't accept? What if I don't want to give it up? What if I do everything I can to protect her?"

" _In this case, my dear student, things will be settled under the terms of the scheme and I will allow it. You see, I'm not the bad guy. And you know this._ "

"I'll contact you about the place for you to pick up your journal. But Lopez is out of those terms."

Grant turned off the phone. He took a deep breath. It wasn't a simple situation. He also didn't understand why Martinez wanted so much to get rid of Santana. He had said this in the journal, that she was a problem that had to be eliminated, but without saying the greater reason. At that moment all he knew was that he needed to use time and run against the clock. Still in front of the computer screen, in the secure email, he received a message from Hemon. It was the decoded Martinez pendrive file. It was a list of gifted persons, plus all bank deposits made in cold accounts. The list was divided into four folders. The first, of pioneers, had five people of whom only one was alive. Strangely, there was no such subject's identity. The second team folder included Martinez's own file and, to Grant's surprise, the model with whom he had slept. The third portfolio, in training, had the profiles of Grant, Santana, Artie, Matt and Brittany. There was nothing about Quinn Fabray. The fourth folder was called candidates, containing the profile of people who could possibly have powers. Rachel wasn't there.

For a few seconds, Grant panicked. The size of things was great. He punched the door, felt the pain, then tried to take a deep breath. He was a logical, mathematical being, calculating movements and risks. He tried to reason. The scheme has always been great. The point is that they were kept in ignorance, in darkness and the light is always blinding when the environment is lit up at once.

He took Martinez's notebook and tried to leaf through to see if there were any details that escaped. He wrote down questions on a notepad that wanted answers. One of them: why does Martinez want the team to deliver Santana if they themselves can set a trap and get it? Why was he so desperate for the journal, but not for the other notebooks or for the pendrive in the safe? What kind of pressure was being submitted? Grant read some notes. There were numbers and letters that looked like codes. He decided to write them all down. I would try to decipher them later. He read some technical information about the experiments he did to test the limits of his powers and his own. There was a broad explanation of what he could and couldn't do.

In one of the remarks, he asserted that people had more or less resistance to his mental powers. "Normal" people could resist a little bit depending on the willpower they had. Martinez made a kind of proxy and resistance relationship, although he admitted that the variables are many. In the journal, Martinez confessed that he had to put a lot of effort into blocking Santana and Grant. More than the others. Artie and Brittany were the most susceptible to mental power. The latest observation was that Quinn seemed resistant to the blockages he tried to introduce.

Grant wrote down his own name and colleague on another sheet and divided it in half. There, in those scribbles, he searched for specific notes on the two to find some relation to why the game that Martinez focused more on the two. He noted numbers, details and realized that Martinez had done more studies on his students than he imagined, but could find nothing there that would make protagonists him or Santana. Until he noticed that the names of the two, on a certain page, were the only ones that had a addressed code. He needed to find out urgently what kind of codes these were. He scanned a few more pages, until he got tired of looking for clues there. The mind was full and confused.

He began to play with a card. When he noticed it, he noticed it was the phone number of the model he had slept with a few hours ago. Harmony Goodwing. She went to her file again. Harmony Goodwing, 30 years old. It had the power of keen hearing and vision.

"She's like a perfect spy," Grant murmured.

Grant decided to call and invited her to lunch. Harmony accepted. He took a shower and straightened. He took care of carrying his computer, notes, notebooks, cell phone and pendrive. Calculated risk. Grant went to the restaurant that Rachel Berry worked and got there half an hour early. He knew she would be there because he remembered hearing her say that she worked at that time to offset the time she would need to leave for the play. Grant found the newest ally serving tables and made a point of being referred to the "sector" she served within the internal division among the staff.

"I can help you." Rachel approached with a wary smile.

"A glass of water, for now, and I'd like you to take that purse here and take it somewhere else. You can do it?"

Rachel nodded and took the bag. For a minute he went to the locker room and put them inside the closet and returned to work quickly. Grant received Harmony shortly thereafter. The young woman smiled and sat down.

"I didn't expect you'd call so soon," she said sympathetically. "It was a great surprise."

"It would be stupid if I had no interest in keeping in touch and depriving myself of your company."

"You are always like that? Bouncer?"

Grant smiled and called the waitress. Rachel came up with the menu in hand and a suspicious smile. Grant asked for five minutes between soft talk about the available dishes until ordering steak and red wine. Tropical salad entrance. Rachel took the wine for Grant to approve, then poured the glasses for the alleged couple. As he worked, he would keep an eye on the movement of the table in anticipation of any urgent call from Grant. But for the moment, he only saw smiles between them.

"You must travel a lot because of your career," Grant said, sipping some of the wine.

"More or less. It's not that I'm an international career model, but I don't lack work. You who must travel a lot being a lawyer and everything."

"Oddly enough, it's not quite like that. I have enough responsibilities with my father's clients."

"You must be very busy with firm stuff."

"Yes. They are things of the company and things that I need to deal with certain special gifts." He looked closely at the reactions of the model and wasn't impressed by the expression of theatrical curiosity. Good vision and hearing didn't make Harmony a good actress.

"Special gifts?"

"You know ... things like having sharp vision and hearing" sipped the wine once more and relaxed in the chair when Rachel brought the lunch entrees. "I hope your taste buds can also be special because the food in this restaurant is great," Grant said, withdrawing without comment.

"They say you're really good at math," Harmony fought back.

"Like any other ordinary person." he sipped a mouthful. "This salad is really great..."

"I'm sure you do." She looked serious. "What do you want, Fish? From special to special."

"Is that what you call yourselves? Interesting. But that's my question. You approached and just in a delicate moment for us here in the city."

"Perhaps."

"Things are a bit confusing, you know? Just want to understand why there's so much movement now, even though we're always here? And why did you approach me in that... way. Not that I'm complaining about our night."

Harmony relaxed in the chair and sipped some wine.

"I must say you're not bad yourself. But I'm puzzled as far as you know. Could you update me?" Harmony said. but Grant realized that she just wanted him to talk too much. He also could play.

"Why are you with the mayor?" He ventured. He didn't know the information for sure. From the reaction of the model, it seems that he was right.

"Better offer."

"What about the program with the others… specials?"

"There is no program. It's all about money."

"But I'm not having any money of it" Grant smiled. "Should I start negotiating what I know?"

Grant's speech seemed to leave Harmony in doubt.

"The mayor can be generous with those who say clues about who is responsible for the leak."

"Any suspects in mind?"

"Your little friend that showed up holding a car on that bridge."

"Yes, I'm aware about the vigilante."

"Don't you think it's only fair that we act so that her actions don't cause us any more trouble?"

"More trouble than $40 million in misappropriated public money?" Grant took a sip of wine with calm and elegance of envy. "Why did the mayor send you to spy on me? You're a perfect spy, but it doesn't make sense for anyone of your feedback to try to seduce me because I got nothing."

"We weren't sure about that. Martinez said you're the one taking care of our own business."

"Yes, I take care of my own business, but you're spying on the wrong person."

Harmony smiled and didn't respond to Grant's insinuation.

"What do you want? So, bluntly. What do you really want?" Grant asked.

"Guarantees that the mess won't happen again."

"I'm not involved. How can I give the mayor guarantees?"

Grant signaled Rachel to pick up the entree's plates and bring in the main meal. The waitress asked if the gentleman wanted more wine and then withdrew to check if the main meals were ready.

"Of course our fight can be for later." Harmony smiled. "But as a token of goodwill for our truce, how about you turn the vigilante over to the police?"

"Why?"

"She's a problem, for sure."

"Why don't you do that?" Grant went on calmly. He took another sip of wine and watched the model's reaction. "Because you don't know who she is. In fact, you don't know who all the players are. Isn't true? Martinez is not so solicitous about sharing information and he has his own motivations."

"You won't want to have us as enemies, Fish. Who is she?"

"Unfortunately the vigilante is a... lone wolf. I already talked to her, but I never saw her face. I don't know her name, where she came from, what she does when she doesn't wear a mask. Nothing."

"Do you know how to get in touch with her?"

"It is she who seeks, never the opposite." Grant smiled as she saw the waitress approaching with the main meals. He silenced himself for a moment and tasted the steak. Magnificent. The sauce was on the point. You need to remember to congratulate the chef on a timely occasion. "Maybe I'm not interested in this game."

"Maybe that's not a problem." Harmony smiled and enjoyed the vegetarian meal.

"I see why you work on this kind of scheme. You have more than good eyesight and hearing." He smiled. He tasted the meal and muttered in pleasure. "But I also have my weapons. We're still working on a friendly plan, you see. It would be horrible if that became public. "

"Right."

"Let's do this: you go out of this game and let us solve our internal problems. No one will get hurt."

"It's not such a simple negotiation."

"Anyway, not my problem. You need to understand that you're in the minefield right now. There is media attention, new players, and none of this is my business."

"I'll take your considerations to my superiors."

"I knew that such a beautiful girl could be reasonable." Grant smiled and finished the meal.

Rachel returned to clear the dishes and gently asked the couple if they would like to check out the dessert menu. Faced with the refusal, she graciously nodded and heeded the request to send the bill. Grant took the coupon, asked for the credit card machine, and left a hundred dollars tip. The couple got up and left the restaurant. If Rachel didn't know who Grant really was, she would think the client either was a snob or had ulterior motives with her. Half an hour after Grant and the model left, her cell phone vibrated. She answered another table first before discreetly checking the message.

" _ **Keep the notebooks until the second order. Tell nothing to anyone**_ "- G. Fish.

Rachel would surely panic if she knew the real importance of the material in her hands. If she had been with Grant now, she would panic to see the beautiful flat completely rolled up. This forced the vigilante to make some phone calls.

...

The last rehearsal before the premiere on Saturday was the rehearsal open to the public the day before. All the members of the theater were there doing their respective parts and trying to ignore all the noise in life outside. Mercedes, Artie, Matt and Quinn were worried about the situation, though Grant had asked them all to calm down in the phone calls. The priority was to shield Santana and drive her away at all costs from the urge to wear the mask. The group looked at Brittany suspiciously. Rachel was in the middle of the hurricane between a group of vigilantes in crisis and the very friends and boyfriend she neglected all week long. There were strangers to everything, like Schuester, Emma, Tina, Mike, Puck, and Blaine. Little did they know they were the happy ones in the story. At least, without Santana and the other more focused actors, the last rehearsal had a good result and the play looked like it would not be a disaster at all.

"What are your plans for today?" Finn asked as he and Rachel left the rehearsal.

"Bed and pillow," Rachel replied with a small smile. "I am exhausted."

"You've been exhausted all these days. Does this have to do with the women's stuff you discussed with Quinn on Monday?"

"Woman's things?" She frowned. Then Rachel remembered that she and Quinn had a quick discussion at the end of the meeting after Santana decided to leave the theater group. Finn asked what was going on and Rachel said it was a woman's thing. That had to do with hormones altered.

"Do you know. This story of when girls have hormones changed. Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Do you think I'm pregnant? I've been taking contraception religiously since that scare."

"Then she?"

Rachel glanced at Quinn, who was holding hands with her boyfriend as they chatted closely with Artie and Mercedes.

"It was just a scare." Rachel thought her boyfriend might think his assumptions were correct. It was just a white lie. "But I imagine the two would have beautiful children if the child pull the beauty of the mother and the colour of the father."

"I think you're right. Let's go? I'll leave you at home."

Rachel thanked her boyfriend, especially for not questioning the lack of interest in the relationship for those days. She loved him, of course, she just couldn't think of the two of the many problems she considered most important. The truth is she doesn't stop thinking about the notebooks that Grant gave her, and it was stressing her, more than being able to keep the diary she hid at her parents' house.

...

Late that night, in the midst of the mess in the apartment that had been turned over while he was lunching with Harmony, Grant tidied up the bed and thought back to the notes on the notebooks. Especially in the codes. There was a pattern in the letters and numbers, beginning with the number: five numbers, four letters. He had already seen that pattern somewhere. He picked up the computer and accessed one of the medical records he had made with Dr. Collins. Five numbers and four letters. He spent the night trying to access the doctor's records. Then he typed the code under his own name into the papers he had written down from his notebook. Started reading the information on the screen.

"Now I understand why you're despair," he murmured to himself.

He went to his file, to Santana, and to all his colleagues. He read it carefully before deleting it one by one. Then he sent a message to Santana.

" _ **Whatever your plans are, do not wear a mask for the rest of the week.**_ " Grant.

...

Rachel couldn't sleep that night. She was thinking of the notebooks that were inside the bag. She wanted to read the information, but thought wisely that the more she knew, the more dangerous it could be. She was startled when she heard the sound of a text message.

" _ **Burn the notebooks as soon as possible**_ " - G. Fish

Her heart pounded. The journal was in her parents' house and nothing could be done about it at that time. But she had the notebooks. Rachel thought about how she should get rid of them. Only one way came to mind. She picked up the biggest metal pot she had in the house, a box of matches, and took the staircase to the ceiling. The night was icy. She set the notebooks in the pot and set them on fire. Rachel watched the flames rise.

"What do you think you're doing?" Kurt surprised her, but Rachel remained silent. "Rachel, what the hell are you doing up here burning paper?"

Rachel looked at her friend. Her face was tired.

"I'm doing a favour to some friends. That's it."

"Rachel ..."

"What's it?"

"Your eyes..."


	22. The blast

"Where is she?" Santana didn't even wait for Kurt to fully open the apartment door.

"I don't know why she called you, but Rachel is in the room that stays..."

Santana didn't expect him to complete the sentence. She knew where Rachel's room is. She had been there once before, and the little apartment wasn't hard to decipher. It was one-thirty in the morning when Santana received the phone call. She was sleeping with Jenny and, once again, left her girlfriend to take care of a request. At least this time, she wasn't on her way to an orgasm, though Jenny complained a lot when she saw her girlfriend dress up hurriedly and walk away with no explanation. The vigilante parked her old car in front of Rachel and Kurt's building at nearly two in the morning.

Santana stopped in front of the half-open door. All she knew was that Rachel panicked to see that the colour of her eyes had changed and that she was desperate. Rachel said, almost in a hysterical state, to call Santana. She just wanted Santana.

"Have you lost your guts?" Kurt approached after he locked the front door.

"I just need a minute."

Santana took a deep breath and knocked on the half-open door. She slipped cautiously into the room, not knowing what to expect. She found Rachel leaning against the head of the bed. Rachel was hugging her own legs and her face was buried on between her own knees.

"I came as fast as I could." Santana softened her voice and approached slowly. "Kurt said that you decided to change your appearance in the middle of the night" the joke had no effect. She sat on the bed in front of Rachel and touched her gently in her arms. "Let me see you."

"No! It's horrible!"

"It should not be that bad." Santana ran her fingers through Rachel's hair. "Come on Rachel, if you don't show me, it won't work. You know I'm not very good at it, so if you don't help me to help you, it's going to be complicated."

Rachel lifted her head, but her eyes were closed. She felt Santana's hand gently caress her face. She opened her eyes slowly through the tears and revealed completely red eyes.

"Should we buy you ruby quartz glasses? I don't know if we'll find one of these in a fair..."

"Ruby Quartz?"

"You know, like Cyclops" The effect of the joke was more tears coming from Rachel.

"I just want this to go away."

"Calm down." Santana hugged her and let her friend cry on her shoulders. "Calm. God, you're shaking, Rach. You need to take a deep breath and calm down. This is your power manifesting for the first time. It is always confusing. It was like this for all of us. It's like menstruating, you know? The first time is always a thump, but we learn to deal with it quickly."

"I'm afraid. Afraid of what I can do. What if I can't control? I didn't ask for this, Santana. I didn't want to have powers like you. I just wanted to help you."

"I know exactly what you're feeling. I understand." Santana returned to caress her friend's face and with a wave encouraged her to speak.

"My whole body is tingling, I'm feeling palpitations... Santana, I'm scared. I just want my eye to go back to normal."

"Hold my hand. You need to focus, Rach, focus and try to relax as much as you can. Close your eyes and focus on my voice, okay?"

Rachel nestled against Santana's body, which hugged her and held her. Santana kissed the top of Rachel's head and began to slowly and calmly pack her.

" _Eu vou fazer uma canção para ela/ uma canção singela, brasileira/ para lançar depois do carnaval/ eu vou fazer um iê-iê-iê romântico/ um anticomputador sentimental_ / _Eu vou fazer uma canção de amor/ para gravar um disco voador._ "

"I never understood why this song didn't go into the final version of our play... I remember watching you rehearsing for the first time... I thought it was so beautiful." Rachel said with the sound of her voice coming out muffled from the position she was in. "I always liked to hear you sing. Since the first time. Since when I saw you for the first time at your audition."

"I was so nervous... I sang the song I was listening to on the radio..."

" _Que você me adora/que me acha foda/ não espere ir embora para perceber..._ " Rachel hummed and smiled as she remembered.

Santana pulled her face up. The red glow in Rachel's eyes was gone.

"I see beautiful brown eyes."

"Really?" Rachel looked like a frail little girl.

"I can bring the mirror if you doubt it."

Rachel straightened her body enough to touch the vigilante's face. The little diva's fingers lodged behind her neck and the two of them leaned down for a kiss on the lips. The touch was soft, calm, full of feelings and meanings. It was a thank-you, a relief, a statement of how much Santana was important to Rachel. It was also a declaration of love. Rachel broke her lips apart and invited Santana to go inside. Tongues touched and danced lazily.

But the kiss ended abruptly. Santana's normally alert senses relaxed in the pleasurable sensation and she didn't hear the front door open again, neither Kurt's whisper nor Finn entering the room in time to catch the girls. Watching the kiss blinded him with jealousy and anger. He pulled Santana by the shoulders and threw her toward the door.

"Stay away from her!" He shouted. "Stay away from her, dyke!"

"Calm down, big..."

Santana was surprised by a punch. Finn was so possessed that he didn't prosecute that she was a girl, and beating girls was against his own policy. Santana took a few steps back, brought Finn into the living room. The mechanic wanted to get on top of her with all his strength. All that the vigilante did was ignore Rachel and Kurt's shouting to fend off successive punches. It was all she could do, because if she reacted, a punch would kill him. Finn rode on her in continuous punches. He was so upset. Santana only protected her face. Kurt was trying to get him out of there.

"Enough!" Rachel shouted.

A shock wave hit the apartment. Finn and Kurt's bodies collided with furniture and walls. All the glasses broke. Santana only felt the strength of the thud less for having a more resistant body and for being on the ground. Still, she felt her back sliding. She was the first to get up. Rachel was standing in the center of the living room. She was crying and trembling. Her eyes were bright red. The place became a war zone. The barrel in the kitchen sink broke and began to flood the kitchen and living room. Santana smelled gas. She hurried to find the valve and close it before all else blow in the air and there would be no strong body in the world to resist an explosion like that. Santana heard alarms flaring, neighbours beginning to flutter on the stairs.

"What happened? Are you all right?" A black man who lived on the same floor invaded the house.

"Where are the valves?" Santana said urgently.

"Here" Since the apartments were standardized, he knew where they were. He closed them "What happened?"

"Help him!" Santana pointed at Kurt as she ran to see how Finn was.

Santana checked the mechanic's vital signs. His pulse was strong and he gave signs that he would wake up soon. Kurt didn't look that good. He took the strongest blow of the energy wave.

"I'll call an ambulance." The neighbour announced.

Santana checked her cell phone in the back pocket of her pants. Apparently it was broken. She turned her attention to Rachel, still paralyzed by everything that happened. Physically, Rachel looked good. The problem was psychological. Santana hugged her and made her sit on the floor. Rachel wept copiously.

"Relax, okay? They're fine, okay? Everything will be fine."

Other people, neighbours, came to check the damage and with dozens of questions. They could hear the sound of the sirens in the distance. Finn was helped by two men. A woman approached the girls.

"We're fine." Santana remained protective of Rachel. "Don't worry, we're fine."

The paramedics came in. They met Kurt still fainted and a stunned and wounded Finn. They checked Rachel and Santana thanked her for being normal by then.

"Normal vital signs. Slight scaling and bruising. But you go to the hospital anyway. We never know." One of the paramedics said as he took a look at Santana. "Can you tell what happened here?"

"No idea. Something exploded. That's it."

Finn and Kurt were taken in an ambulance. Rachel and Santana in another. In five minutes the four of them went down to the nearest public hospital. Santana and Finn underwent some tests, but they were fine and were released after the mechanic got three stitches behind his head and the two gained a portion of analgesic in the vein. Rachel needed to be medicated and sedated. Kurt had an internal bleeding on impact and was referred to emergency surgery.

"That wouldn't have happened if it weren't you." Finn said softly and menacingly as he sat down next to the vigilante. "If anything happens to Kurt, I swear I'll make you pay, Lopez."

"The fault is mine? I didn't do any of this. I understand your anger, Finnept. Boy, you got me kissing your girlfriend. Blame me on that, but I didn't do any of this and you need to be very careful what you're going to say."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Let's go to the facts here. Kurt's undergoing surgery now. His father is catching a plane directly here. Your mother will arrive here without time and the police will start asking a lot of questions. You need to come up with a crazy story to blame on me when you were punching me like a psycho when something exploded. Rachel and Kurt are witnesses that you were the aggressor, my bruises prove it. As far as I know, Hudson, I can sue you at the end of the day."

The mechanic folded his arms and absorbed the words of the architecture student. What hurt him was that Santana had complete right. He was beside himself and attacked her. He attacked a woman and punched her mercilessly. He didn't understand how Santana's bruises didn't say much about the way she was attacked, though that didn't matter at the time. The fact is that his stepbrother was in surgery, the girlfriend he loved so much was sedated in a hospital bed and he was next to a woman he blindly assaulted. A woman!

"Why did you go there?" Santana asked sternly.

"Kurt called me. He said there was something wrong with Rachel. Something happened and she started calling for you. Which didn't make the slightest sense. Until I entered that room. How long has this freak been going on?"

"Nothing is happening." Santana was defensive.

"I have the right to know, Lopez. The one who's sedated on that litter is the woman of my life and I've caught her with you. I deserve to know what's going on."

"Rachel and I became friends behind everybody backs. I swear that's it. The kiss was something of the moment, okay? I have some experience in calming people with panic syndrome and such things. The kiss happened in the wake of events. It doesn't mean that Rachel wanted to stop riding your dick."

"You think she has panic syndrome."

"The rape she suffered may have unleashed many things."

"Rachel wasn't raped."

"Of course she was, Hudson. Or do you think rape is only characterized when there is penile penetration?"

Finn was silent. He hated the fact that Santana was throwing something in his face that he had so much work to leave behind.

"I can accept that, but what I don't understand is why would she call you and not me in a moment of crisis? Or why wouldn't she have been upset with Kurt, who's been her best friend ever since? As far as I can tell, you and Rachel have always hated each other. Something is wrongly told in this story and I know you know what it is."

"What matters now?" Santana sighed. "It's just that Rachel's going to need all the support we can give her when she wakes up and finds out about Kurt. Can you do this without wanting to punch me in front of her, Hudson?"

"For a while..."

In an hour, Santana was in the waiting room of the hospital with Finn's mother, Puck, Tina, Dave (who only saw her on occasion), Emma and Schuester. Finn was like Rachel's company and nothing in the world would stop him from doing so. Santana felt like a stranger in that room. Puck stared at her like she was an intruder who must have caused the mess, or that she was probably a terrorist who planted a bomb in his friend's apartment. It doesn't matter if a guy of almost 2m of height and 120kg attacked a girl of 1.60m and 49kg: Santana was the cause of the confusion and therefore she deserved the punches. Imagine if they knew that girl was the vigilante? Probably Puck and the other men would be signing Santana's death sentence.

Fortunately, Tina was at her side, and the presence of a friend who didn't judge her with the look softened the bad feeling. As much as Tina loved her friends, she understood that they were sexists and protected themselves no matter if one of them was actually guilty. There was an innocent woman in that waiting room who was being blamed. Tina knew that a man like Finn punching a woman had nothing justifiable.

"Do you need anything?" Tina asked her colleague.

Santana glowered at her. Then she smiled slightly.

"No, but thank you."

"You need to tell the police what Finn was doing before the blast."

"I'd tell, but I need to think about Rachel. She needs peace of mind at this point and filing a lawsuit against her boyfriend would only make it worse."

Another half hour and Mercedes came to support her friends and, at that moment, Santana in particular. She took her friend's hand and tucked her into her shoulders. Another ten minutes, and the police summoned her along with Finn to provide clarification in the hospital administration room. The mechanic accused her in front of the police to try to steal his girlfriend and that the two were "arguing" at the time of the explosion. But they were both silent about what might have been the cause. Finn really had no idea. Santana knew what it was about, but explaining it would expose other lives, including hers and Rachel's.

Both returned from the interrogation with the news that Kurt's surgery was successful. Their friend was stable and recovering at the CTI until he was well enough to be transferred to a room. Kurt's father would arrive forty minutes later and be the first to visit his son.

Despite Finn's protests and everyone's argument about Rachel's condition, Santana stayed in the hospital until she could recover. She was the only one who remembered to tell Rachel's parents and call them. When Hiram and Leroy arrived, they stayed at Santana's side until they could enter and check their daughter's condition with their own eyes.

"I'm sorry." Santana lowered her eyes to Leroy. "I ended up getting involved with your daughter knowing she already had a boyfriend. I swear that wasn't my intention. It just happened."

"It's not your fault to like her." Leroy hugged her. "Come on in between us, I prefer you than that guy." Santana smiled briefly and broke the hug. "You're exhausted. Go home and rest. You've done a lot here."

"I'd like to see Kurt and be here by the time she wakes up."

"It's six o'clock in the afternoon, Santana and you've been in this hospital for over 14 hours, so I understand. Go home and rest. We're taking Rachel to our house, so show up there tomorrow. Come to have the breakfast with us if you want. But please go home and get some sleep."

"Tomorrow is the open night..." she whined. "Rachel will hate to miss this."

Leroy smiled and stroked the college girl's messy hair.

"Yes, but what you could do about it? Shit happens, right?"

Leroy made a point of paying for the taxi that would take Santana home. Her old car was still parked in front of Rachel's building and she had not remembered to ask Mercedes or Grant or any other friend bring her car back to the campus. When Santana knocked on her bedroom door, she came upon a small assembly that was there. Mercedes, Artie and Grant argued about the case.

"It was Rachel," Santana said simply and lay down on her bed. "She is like us and she's very scared." She rolled to the side and closed her eyes. She still listened to the discussions of the three friends.

"Everyone we know has manifested having pubertal powers. Me, you, Santana... even Quinn said she started at puberty even though she just started learning to control it now. Rachel is 21 years old. I don't understand why just now." Artie took some of the coke he stole from her friends' refrigerator.

"My theory is that her powers were latent and that she could stay that way for the rest of her life. Until a very stressful event happened. Something really significant that shook her physical and emotional state. A powerful enough thing to make that dormant power begin to come to the surface." Grant analysed.

"The rape maybe?" Mercedes said. "Santana even mentioned that she caught the guy when he was... putting on. This is very traumatic one. It would be for me."

"It's possible."

"Could you guys please discuss this somewhere else?" Santana grunted. "That's not something I'd like to remember right now, okay?"

Artie, Grant and Mercedes silenced to the point of hearing a small sigh from the vigilante. Grant agreed to postpone the conversation that day. But it was something he knew he couldn't put aside. There were a lot of people in town who would be interested in these events.

The boy was right.

…

Martinez was accompanied by the cop who chased Santana entered the place interdicted by the police.

"If it was a bomb, they would have found traces," the cop said. "My guess is that it was one of the boys. My bet is on the big guy. He said he caught his girlfriend kissing the other girl. Anyone would explode after that, you know? In any case, that person doesn't have mastery of the powers and would be potentially dangerous for all of us" he commented.

"Are you suggesting elimination? These kids have a relationship with the city's most popular councilor. It won't be easy" Martinez mused. "Maybe it's wiser if I could work with him first. Maybe I can help him."

"You're out of prestige, you know?" The cop scoffed.

"And murder without trying is a more plausible solution?" Martinez questioned.

The cop checked the crime scene again.

"Like you've never killed anyone before... I know you."

"And you know that I only call for this in the last case."

"One way or another, he will not tolerate another failure."

"I told him that I'm going to solve that problem, just as I'm going to solve this one."

"Sure…"


	23. Please, help me

Rachel rubbed her hands with anxiety. She looked out the window of the old room and was afraid to move. From time to time she checked the colour of her eyes in the mirror. She was afraid they would turn red. She was afraid of being around her dads, Finn, or anyone else. Rachel cried compulsively when she learned that her best friend almost lost his life because of her. She blamed herself for feel envious of Santana because the vigilante has super-powers, and now that she also had super-powers, she begged God to get it out of her.

"Rachel?" There was a knock at the door. It was Hiram.

"Stay away from me, Daddy."

"Someone is anxious to talk to you."

"I said I don't want to see anyone. Absolutely no one."

"Not even me?" Rachel glanced back, toward the door, to see Santana next to her father. She closed her eyes and turned away.

"Specially you."

"Rachel, please..." The vigilante insisted. "It won't help at all if you isolate yourself."

"Perhaps." Rachel kept her back to the door. "But I don't want to talk now. Please leave me alone."

"Please, Rachel. Give me five minutes. That's all I ask." They received silence in response and Hiram began to pull Santana by her arm, but she didn't leave the place. "Rach, what happened to Kurt was hard. I know what it's all about. And I also know that I can help." She insisted urgently.

"What do you mean, do you know what I'm feeling?" She responded aggressively. "How dare you say that?"

"Because I know, believe me. Five minutes, Rach. "

Rachel looked at her father, then at the vigilante. They were eager to hear an answer, especially Santana, who seemed determined to talk to her friend at all costs. It was almost noon. Some people had passed by that house: Tina, Puck, and even Finn. She had refused to see them all and it seemed right not to give Santana any chance. But Rachel looked at his father and nodded.

"You have five minutes, Santana."

Santana thanked Hiram and closed the bedroom door. Rachel stood in the same position, her arms folded. She still felt angry at everything. Anger at herself. But, perhaps, I would like to know what the vigilante would have to say.

"I know it's hard. It's difficult, but standing here won't help at all..." Santana approached just to be cut off.

"Let me guess: are you going to say it's not my fault, that I shouldn't feel this way, that I should train and learn to control this beast that is inside me?"

"Basically." Santana smiled awkwardly.

"Then you can go now. I am not interested."

"Kurt is not exactly my friend, but I respect him. I think he's talented..."

"Don't you dare, Santana! Don't you dare!"

"Okay," she sighed. "Want to hear a story? One when I was 15 and I started getting really strong? One that out of control I almost killed my first girlfriend?"

Rachel frowned. She was curious. Santana wasn't exactly an open book and Rachel wanted to know more about the vigilante. Kill the first girlfriend? Maybe that was really close to what happened to Kurt. Sensing the opening, Santana leaned against the dresser, almost in front of her friend, and avoided looking directly at her.

"Do you know about those Spider-Man movies where he just finds out his powers and starts breaking things around the house? That's exactly what happened to me. Typing was a hassle because I used to break keyboards and cell phones in less than five minutes of use. I still break those, but they last considerably longer. I broke doors, door knobs, windows, my bed... all because I couldn't control the force that only increased. I was even afraid to touch people. My parents told me to do tai chi chuan and do swimming, which helped a lot. At least I managed to live with it for a long time. At that time I thought it was enough, that I was in control, but I was wrong. Even one of the worst days of my life was when I broke the first girl I ever loved."

"How?" Rachel's voice came out small.

"Kurt must know what it's like to get out of the closet at school. It is hard."

"Yes it is. I was a witness. Kurt suffered so much bullying that he almost felt school. It took Finn, Dave, and Puck to make a threatening pact with some school bullies."

"Don't get me wrong. I was reasonably popular at my school for being one of the stars of the swimming team. Alice too. She was a student on the board of honor and was on the swim team with me. But from the moment we publicly came out at school, things changed. Many of the kids recriminated us, our few true friends supported us, and some boys began to harass us. They said they had the perfect instrument to make us be heterosexual and point to their own dicks. There was a lake in my city where the kids used to go to enjoy their friends, to make out in peace. Alice and I went to the lake with some friends and at one point I risked my luck to a quickie. I led her to a more secluded place, I was horny, you know? And we had already lost our virginity to each other two months before. I thought at that moment that life was wonderful.

Some of the older guys from the school followed us to this place and decided they would take advantage. They were willing to rape us. Worst of all, this wasn't news to many of them, you know? They were those jock bullies who were used to abuse their own girlfriends or to take advantage of drunken and drugged girls at parties they promoted after some football games. It was five against two, but the advantage was all on my side. No matter how I told them to get out and leave us alone, that wouldn't happen. I took a bully that went up to Alice. He flew a few feet when I threw him. A second tried to hit me, but I broke his hand with a simple squeeze. I broke a third-guy's nose when I laid a hand on his face. I wasn't holding myself, you know? I had never put my strength into a fight like that and it felt great. I could destroy them all. It was just boys, but so what? I was just a girl, too.

One of these guys picked up a can of beer and splashed the liquid in my eyes. I stayed without seeing for a while and felt that someone approached. I rolled my body and punched it. When I could see, the boys had already run and Alice was stretched out on the floor with blood coming out of her nose and mouth. The punch I gave her broke her ribs and punctured a lung. She underwent two surgeries and was hospitalized for two weeks. I told our parents that we had quarreled with some boys and Alice fell on a rock. She never denied me; on the other hand, she broke up with me and never wanted to see my face no matter how much I begged for forgiveness. I've never forgiven myself, anyway."

"You never talked to her again?"

"She didn't want to talk to me, Rach. I don't blame her. Alice was an athlete and she loved to compete. After this episode, she can never go back to training. I ruined a career that she could follow. Alice was my first great love and I ruined it. I was 15 years old, almost 16. I spent a year withdrawing, corroding myself in guilt, cursing myself, trying not to relate to people as self-punishment. My grades at school dropped a lot. I left the swim team and became a loser. Until the day Alice showed up at school hanging from the neck of one of the guys who tried to attack us that day. It was a cruel blow. At the same time, it made me stop suffering a little bit. I didn't compete again, but I concentrated on studying and leaving my city.

The point is, I had to move out of town and go to college to find people who helped me deal with my powers. With help, I understood that what I had wasn't a curse, but something I could use for good. What I needed to do was train my potential and my self-control. Martinez… he can be a jerk, you know? But I can't deny that he has helped me a lot, just like Artie, Grant, Matt, Brittany... And you have all these people to support you, to help deal with this power that came out in a complicated hour, that hurt your best friend, but Rach, trust me when I say: Isolating yourself is worse. The best way for you to do good to Kurt and everyone you love, to ensure their safety, is to learn how to control this power you have. And you don't have to wait years like me to have that help."

"It doesn't change Kurt's being in the hospital because of me."

"No... it doesn't. But you wouldn't be honoring your friend if you stand idly by."

Rachel paused to consider the story. Santana was still leaning against the dresser, not wanting to approach, respecting her friend's personal space.

"Does Tai Chi really work?" She asked anxiously.

"I still practice it when I get anxious. It's a good exercise for you to help balance."

"Could you teach me?"

"Of course."

"Tomorrow? I don't know if I could do it today..."

"Take your time, Rach, and be patient because the process is slow. The most important thing in this is that you have to understand that you need to work on it, because it's part of what you are."

"Tomorrow," Rachel repeated. "I appreciate you doing all this for me, Santana, but I would like to stay a little alone now. I'm tired."

"OK. But Rach, one thing: try to sleep and not think too much about red eyes. It helps. And if you feel anything, if your eyes change colour and you feel those tingling, call me right away."

"Thanks. See you tomorrow."

Santana waved and left the room. He went downstairs and nodded to the Berry who waited anxiously for news.

"She's not well, but she'll stay," Santana said seriously. "At least she took help. I'll be back in the morning tomorrow."

"Thank you, Santana." Hiram hugged her and the gesture caught the vigilante by surprise.

She returned the gesture and smiled as she left the Berry residence.

...

Finn parked the truck in front of the Berry's house and got out of the car. Again, he wasn't well received by Hiram and Leroy, but the men let the young man try his luck with his girlfriend, after all, Rachel was an adult, not dependent on them, and was there temporarily. The boyfriend knocked on the door, but the request he heard was that he came back the other day, that Rachel wasn't ready to talk to anyone else.

Frustrated and confused by not having answers about what happened in the apartment, Finn thought of the person who, for him, was to blame for everything. For him, Santana had a secret negative influence on Rachel that he didn't notice. But would it be satisfying? The play was delayed because of the accident in the apartment that made Kurt end up on an operating table and Rachel was depressed. Schuester didn't know when he could set a new date. Replacing the smaller roles, like Kurt's, was a simpler task, and these same minor role actors replaced actors with leading roles. In Rachel's case, Tina would take over. But to debut without Rachel was unthinkable and the group was in no condition to act at that moment.

" _Finn, how are things?_ " Finn heard Schuester voice on the phone. " _Kurt and Rachel are all right?_ "

"Kurt is recovering well and is already in the room. Rachel… she's broken, Schue, and I don't know what to do."

" _Give her time, Finn. From what you told me in the hospital, things were intense._ "

"Yes, they were. I have found out that Rachel is capable of cheat on me."

" _You're not sure of the circumstances. Don't judge hastily._ "

"I know Rachel wouldn't do it for free. Just as I also know Santana is a disaggregator. So much she has done to harm the group that she finally succeeded."

" _You're nervous,_ " Schuester tried to ponder. " _And it's never good to do or say hot-headed things_."

"What I know is that I can't keep silent or even stop. I want her to pay for the damage she's done to us all. I'll sue her."

" _Finn, reconsider..._ "

"I'm not morally superior. I'm not as special as you once said to me. I simply am not and I accept that. I am a mechanic geared to being a coach of a school football team. That's it. But I know she's boycotted us."

" _We will hold a meeting between the founders only then. If the majority decides, we will see how we will proceed. What do you think?_ "

"The terms are reasonable. When do we vote? "

" _As soon as Kurt has conditions. I texted the original members._ "

"Then send it tomorrow. The sooner we figure it out, the better."


	24. The brain and the heart

"That sounds kind of ridiculous." Rachel looked at a different Santana in a large white T-shirt, such as lightweight pants and thin-soled sneakers for martial arts. "I didn't know I had to have a uniform."

"It's not a uniform." Santana stretched quickly. "You just have to feel comfortable doing tai chi. Tight gym clothes get in the way. In the first place, tai chi is a martial art. You learn moves that can be used for defense and attack, but the principle is different because the use and benefit of it is the pursuit of the balance of the circulation of energies. It's the only martial art that aims at preserving the practitioner's health, you know? Hence the healing and therapeutic properties. And the first step to that is to learn to breathe."

"I know how to breathe, Santana. I'm a singer. I know how to use my diaphragm."

"Shut up and just do as I say, okay?"

It was eight o'clock in the morning. Hiram and Leroy watched from the window the two girls interacting in the backyard. They were pleased to see their daughter react relatively quickly after those horrible days. They thought Santana's influence was positive, or at least better than Finn Hudson's. The thought of Rachel's dads was pragmatic at that moment: Finn took their daughter away, Santana brought her back. Santan Finn.

...

It was a quiet morning, a breeze from the stormy days. As Rachel began the training, even without really knowing it, Brittany was in the dance studio. The play didn't premiere as planned, but there would still be such a performance. She was divided over the fate she wanted to take. She wanted to visit Kurt and heal him from the wounds. Brittany could do that. She could wear a mask and go into that hospital room. She could heal the wounds and make Kurt look like new. Why she didn't? Because the boss said no. Brittany had difficulty understanding and conciliating the authoritarian image of the boss and the affectionate Martinez. It was as if they were two different people, and she was pretty sure the theory made sense. To obey? She wasn't like Santana, capable of breaking rules, not even questioning like Grant. Then she tended to obey. In the dance studio, she was waiting for Mike. They needed to rehearse.

...

That morning, Quinn helped her daughter do a school job. Beth needed to make a poster with an illustration that sums up Trenzinho Caipira, by Heitor Villa-Lobos, she learned at school. They were working willing listening the song.

" _Lá vai o trem com o menino/ Lá vai a vida a rodar/ Lá vai ciranda e destino/ Cidade e noite a girar/ Lá vai o trem sem destino/ Pro dia novo encontrar/ Correndo vai pela terra/ Vai pela serra/ Vai pelo mar/ Cantando pela serra o luar/ Correndo entre as estrelas a voar/ No ar, no ar_ "

After preparing breakfast, Quinn set the dishes aside, along with other household chores to help her little girl in the use of coloured glue and crayons.

"Do you think I should put more colour, Mom?"

"Don't you think your poster is coloured enough?"

"It's missing the frame."

Quinn nodded and helped her daughter paint the edges of the poster. It was a therapy to work with colours and playful designs. She was doing with Beth what her own mother had never done. Her mother always had a headache and sent her eldest daughter, Frannie, to help. Sometimes Quinn had help, but most of the time she didn't. Frannie, four years older, got out of the house when she finished high school and seldom communicated.

"Want some juice?" She asked the kid.

"Can I take the one from the strawberry box?" The girl asked with pleading eyes.

"It's for your snack, Beth."

"Just one, please! I like it so much..."

Quinn couldn't resist some of her daughter's pleas. She couldn't give Beth everything. She didn't have the material conditions to pay half the girl's requests, who didn't understand financial rules very well, and thought there was a magic thing called an ATM that gave money whenever she wanted to. But what Quinn could give Beth, the little whims and the little things, she did. The juice boxes were counted, but one less wouldn't hurt. Only one. She took one from the cupboard. It was at room temperature. Quinn concentrated and in seconds the juice was ice cold. She offered it to her daughter, who was delighted.

"Milk that's good, you don't drink."

"Only if it has lots of chocolate."

Quinn shook her head and smiled. Sometimes she couldn't resist Beth's charms.

...

Even that morning, Matt, Artie, and Grant met in the building where the telekinetic worked. Work that was in the process of being finished, but since the young man was one of the foreman's assistants, he used to stay in the building until the end of the process, even when the carpentry closed the part of it. In short, he had free access. The three of them argued over Rachel, the evidence and the ultimatum that Martinez gave about the delivery of the stolen material already burning - except for the journal, although they didn't know it yet. Grant was supposed to meet the former mentor in a neutral place early in the evening as a supposed truce.

"Shall we continue shielding Santana?" Artie asked.

"It's essential," Grant replied dryly.

"I don't understand." Matt looked at some notes from his colleague. "Why so much protection over who doesn't seem to care?"

"Santana's a purist." Grant smiled. "We need purists who don't make concessions if we decide to be a cohesive unit against these guys."

"Are you saying the rest of us are corruptible?" Matt was offended.

"Who isn't? But if we agree to take care of this problem in our own way, we need someone like her. It's fundamental. But what do we know more about Rachel?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Artie was frustrated. "Santana is with her now and may be coming back with a little more information. But I think we should worry more about Kurt and Finn. More with Finn than Kurt."

"Is Kurt out of danger?" Grant asked.

"Yes. He's even home."

"Any chance Rachel herself would talk to him before the police?"

"I can't say," Artie lamented. "We'll have to wait until Santana finishes tai chi with Rachel."

"Is she going to train a girl with newly discovered powers with tai chi?" Grant smiled. "One more reason I like that nut."

"Hey, let's get back to our core problem? Martinez will see you today. What should we do? "Matt snapped his fingers.

"Well, my friends, I don't think we should compromise. I'll take care of him. Artie, you could go visit Kurt at his house and Matt, well you could talk to Finn. Like that, who wants nothing. Find out what he saw and if he suspects that his girlfriend has powers."

...

At the Berry's house, Santana and Rachel finished their first practice session. The little diva stretched her arms and actually felt better, but she was still uncertain about the power she knew she couldn't control for now.

"Are you going to visit Kurt today?" Santana asked.

"I'm not ready yet." Rachel tried to close the subject that had barely begun.

Santana nodded. She wasn't going to force Rachel out of the cocoon ahead of time. She knew better than anyone that she had to be patient. Santana said goodbye to her friend with a gentle hug. Rachel watched Santana walk away from the living room window. She was fine, but she still didn't want to face the world. It was good to have that corner in order to hide. Her job, she knew she would lose it in another day or two away. She didn't have a medical license to justify it, so, even if the manager likes her very much, it would be fair to fire her. Maybe she was going to ask one of the parents to take care of the errands. Her apartment? She didn't want to know for now. Her things were there and she would ask Tina to do some laundry. She couldn't continue to wear the scented clothes that were still in the drawers, even if they were washed. She could no longer feel good inside the grubby blouse she wore at age 18.

Rachel picked up her cell phone and wasn't impressed by the amount of text messages. Most were from Finn. She glanced quickly at some of them and turned her eyes to many. Finn could be really co-dependent and selfish when he wanted to. Much more than her. She still had a hard time accepting the way her boyfriend went up to Santana to physically assault her. It's true that Santana wasn't a normal person and his punches could be like child blows. The point is Finn didn't know Santana had super powers and actually attacked a woman cowardly. Rachel came to ponder that if her boyfriend was fully capable of beating a cowardly woman, couldn't he do the same to her if he lost control? The question remained in the air.

She left a text message to Tina, took a shower, and returned to the isolation of her room. She didn't bother answering her boyfriend or many of her closest friends.

...

Quinn finished her activities with her daughter and thought about her household chores. Since the super-group burned all the evidence after learning more of the process and Grant assured that it erased all the vigilante's records, including the newly opened file on it, which was a little quieter. The situation was still tense, of course, but at least she was sure that if the files were to surface, her identity, Matt's and the others' identity would be preserved. Quinn separated the dark clothes from the white ones and placed them in the basket to take to the laundry room across the street. She ordered Beth to put on her shoes and allowed the girl to carry a toy before going down the stairs and fulfilling her obligation.

While she waited for the process and thought about lunch, she picked up the cell phone (it was a new one bought by Grant, entitled to a secure line) and checked the text messages.

" **Lunch?** " - Matt.

" **Yes** " - Quinn.

Quinn looked at the machine and wished the process was faster. She had the impression that she wasted half a weekend in a public laundry. She had powers to be a superhero if she wanted to. Like the comic books Beth was beginning to enjoy reading. But most of her routine was from an ordinary woman struggling day after day to pay her rent. The world was very different from comics.

...

Matt didn't know exactly how to get to Finn to talk. Obviously it had to be something over the phone because he'd never been so close to knocking on his door and asking for a beer, and he doubted Finn would pay much attention. She sat in the car and dialled the number she rarely wore.

" _Hello?_ "

"Hey Finn, this is Matt. I'm calling to find out if everything's okay with you, Kurt and Rachel."

" _Kurt is healing well. He's already in our parents' house._ "

"That's great, man. But is he going back to his apartment? "

" _Not for now. The apartment needs to be cleared before and after being repaired. But I don't know if he and Rachel will continue to live there thogether_."

"Oh, that's understandable. Has the expertise come to any conclusion? That if I may ask, of course."

" _Not that I know. Nobody knows how to say anything, by the way._ "

"Didn't you hear the rumour?"

" _What the heck?_ "

"It's said that some police officers were experimenting some weapon against the vigilante, a kind of air displacement pump. They say they made a mistake and this bomb exploded next to Kurt and Rachel's apartment. It was a friend of mine who works at the city's tech company who told me, that they provided the police with some of these, but that can't be disclosed, you know?"

" _Really? I don't know about that bomb, but I wouldn't be surprised_ " Despite playing against the vigilantes, Matt's goal was to take away their image of Santana and Rachel's manifestation of powers. If you could create that image in Finn, you would have accomplished a goal. " _Matt, I'm enjoying talking to you, but could I ask if I get support for one thing from you? It's about Santana._ "

"What about her?"

" _She has caused a very big problem and we are thinking of suing her for the damages caused by the delay of the play._ "

"We who?"

" _Me, Puck, Mike, Kurt, Schuester._ " Finn hadn't spoken to Kurt yet, and Schuester didn't agree with it, but Matt couldn't know. " _I'm sure you could support us. and that you could persuade Quinn to do the same._ "

"I'll talk to her."

" _That would be really important. Santana is a problem, a disaggregator who only has support from those two friends of hers._ "

"Who?"

" _Artie and Mercedes. Nothing against Artie, but Mercedes is a trouble maker too. But she's much more tolerable._ "

"Okay, Finn, I'll talk to my girl. Thanks for the news."

Matt hung up the phone. He was sick. He always considered Finn Hudson a good fellow, but his vindictive face was even pernicious. He glanced at his watch. She still had time to go home before taking Quinn and Beth to lunch.

...

"I want these double steaks." Santana smiled at the waiter and then at the companion at the table.

Grant shook his head. The fellow vigilante was incorrigible when it came to food, especially when she wouldn't have to pay for it. They were in the usual restaurant. Under the present circumstances, it wouldn't be good to meet there, but how to resist the best steak of the city?

"You have an elephant's stomach," Grant grumbled.

"Too much energy to replace" Santana settled into the chair. "I was surprised by your invitation, by the way."

"Why?"

"Because you've never invited me before to go out. Especially by surprise."

"That makes me look like a jerk."

"Not so much. We've been through a lot of things together over the last few weeks. Much more than before. I think it's natural for us to get closer now."

"I agree." Grant nodded. "How's Rachel?"

"Getting better. But I think it will be a long process."

"Do you think you can deal with her?"

"At first, yes. But of course, afterwards, you all will help me, right?"

"Of course." Grant smiled. "How about the patrols?"

"I know we're late about our investigation. Is that all this trouble with Rachel, the scandal of the city hall, the notebooks. We need to discuss all this, Grant. I heard news that the prosecutor wants to negotiate with the vigilantes about the leak of the mayor's files."

"It's a trap. We'll talk eventually, but will be with the press."

"Are you sure."

"Trust me… anyway, what are you doing today?"

"Patrol, maybe."

"Don't do that."

"Why?"

"Could you promise me to not do that?"

"Why?" Santana was more incisive in her tone.

"Because I'm going to be in action today and I need you quiet. I was going to suggest that you stay home and spend time with your girlfriend... what's her name?"

"Jenny?"

"That one!"

"Of course you have one though, because you wouldn't call me here and talk to be quiet, like I've been trying to be for so long."

"There you are, San. I really need you to stay home. Go date a little, study, do some projects that I know you love. Do anything, but don't walk the streets no matter what happens."

"What the hell are you doing today, Grant?"

"It doesn't matter. But it does matter to me if you stay safe today. Look, San, I wouldn't want to leave you in the dark, but if I sussed, I promise we'll have peace for a long time. So trust me and stay home warm in bed with your girlfriend."

"I'll try..." Santana wasn't sure she would hold herself. She hated being left in the dark, but would try to take the request seriously into account.

"So Rachel can project energy." Grant strategically shifted the subject to something Santana liked to talk about.

"Yeah… Maybe bigger than it was for us because, frankly, her gift is a bit more complicated. Projection of energy with serious impact and high probability of wreaking havoc."

"She has in you the mentor figure now."

"I think this mentor figure should be more unbiased for her sake."

"Love affairs are always confusing."

"Me and Rachel having an affair? I don't know if that is the case, but our relationship status is very confusing. She has a longtime boyfriend who is an idiot, but who loves him, anyway. I wouldn't say I'm a committed person, but Jenny is in my life now. She knows about me and I need to be very careful with it."

"You told her?"

"No, she recognized me in that bridge video."

"Really? How? I've seen that video a hundred times. People know that you aren't Calcasian, your weight and approximate height. But other than that, they can't know much more."

"I wore the bloody blouse she gave me for my birthday. Apparently it was an exclusive collection. she confronted me about it and I had no way of denying it."

"God! That's new."

"Yeah. But don't worry. She doesn't know about the rest of us."

They had lunch in peace. Santana devoured the huge plate and Grant was satisfied with a large salad. They said goodbye with a hug and Santana decided to follow his friend's advice and spend the rest of the afternoon with her girlfriend. Grant needed to prepare himself. He went to his place partially messed up, because he didn't have time to put all things in place after the unwanted visit of people connected to the mayor. He sent some emails and talked to his parents.

Then Grant prepared for the meeting. He put on vigilante clothes, because he would act as one. It was right to have such an identity. He got out of the car and drove to the compound. He put on the mask and climbed the second floor of a shed in the industrial sector of the city. He recapitulated scenes of the group's own history, the training, the calls, the inclusion of each one. He held his breath, set the pack on the floor, and closed the door.

"I wondered how long you'd start acting in the face of the group stampede," he tried to control the tone of his voice. "Once you planned the vigilante's death, I thought your first blow would be deferred against her, but I confess that your actions in sending a spy over me were surprising."

" _Harmony? I have nothing to do with her. Now, about the vigilante... well... she is the heart of the riot_ " Boss admitted, as usual, projecting the thought into the mind of the former pupil. " _She represents a passion for mission that doesn't interest us. Today I am aware of this and I confess that I erred by underestimating her role. But if she is the heart, you are the brain. Well, you read my observations and you should know that._ "

"Right." Grant smiled. "You tried to tear our heart out and it didn't work. And you were surprised when the brain started the counterattack and made the rest of the group aware of everything. You can confess, from teacher to your first student, you are confused for the first time in years."

" _Hardly_ " they began to walk in a circle, as if studying each other. " _The heart is the great motivator, but it does not work without the brain._ "

"The brain dies, but the heart can still keep the body alive for a while, but as a vegetable. It will not last long if you are weak. So that's the metaphor you want to get hold of, right?"

" _Would you like to prove a theory?_ " Boss continued walking in an imaginary circle with Grant trying to keep his distance. " _That's why the big confrontation happens here._ "

"I won't be alone for long."

" _Your friends won't come in time. I make sure of it. You think I didn't decipher your plan? Expose all the dirt and bring about the beneficial crisis of government, gain popular support and start acting with this support, open de doors to you. It's daring that it can either work brilliantly, or be shot in the foot... or in the head._ "

"The crisis in the city hall is installed. Popular support is already happening as the case unfolds. Everything is in our favour."

" _It depends on how I move the pieces. I can reverse this game._ "

"You don't have your own documents anymore. The heart has inadvertently taken you away because you may be a telepath, but your memory capacity is terrible. That's why you must be so organized with your files, which should be very frustrating. You end up being a victim of some of the very mental barriers you put in us, so you also have a hard time denouncing our identities. That's why you need your journal and your notes. Because, ironically, you are able to pronounce her name."

" _You're smart, Grant. But not that smart._ "

"What can you do now? I destroyed them. There is nothing else, no evidence. Ended."

"You made a big mistake, Grant." Martinez's voice echoed angrily through the shed.

"I'm a mathematician, Martinez. I'm accurate."

Grant read movements as if they were instantaneous mathematical equations. He maintained his physical form to be able to react with the speed and precise force. Boss was a venerable adversary. He was agile despite his considerable muscle mass. At the age of 40, he had strong arms, defined abdomen, and extensive experience in martial arts. Grant was also a fighter and a good gymnast. It was necessary for what he did inside the guards. They studied each other. The concentration was total. Grant paid attention to possible firearms and what would be the best way to escape. Boss moved so that he stood between Grant and the exit door. There was one more window. He quickly analyzed possible leakage routes.

Boss was the first to advance. Grant, as expected, swerved from the punch and gave a precise counterattack, but not strong enough to knock down someone with larger body mass.

"You're always been my favourite training partner," Boss smiled.

"I'm flattered." Grant moved and tried to swap a few more blows, but Boss was aware of his strategy of winning the door.

Grant tried to turn and punch for the attack, the boss was able to defend him, and when he hit him, he could unbalance the ex-pupil with a slimmer body. The blows began to come heavier and he had difficulty dodging. In a mental confusion, Boss shot a violent punch through his mouth, which made him spit blood.

"Interesting" Grant took three steps back and ran his hand over his mouth "Using your mental powers to try to obscure my ability to read your movements."

"The time for a clean fight is over."

Boss advanced with more decision and violence. Grant fought for the best, he hoped for the arrival of his friends, but Boss must have met them before in some way and prevented or delayed them. Something happened. As much as Grant could read the movements, his body no longer made it possible for him to dodge and counterattack. In an unfortunate advance, he took a painful punch to the ribs. Boss tugged him through the hair and banged his spine. Grant fell to the floor. He was helpless. In his blurred field of vision, he saw Boss above him, standing with a revolver in his hands.

"Out of respect for you, my first student, a quick death," he said in his own voice, muffled even over the mask. "It was a pleasure."

When Matt, properly masked, arrived with Artie, the cry of horror was inevitable. They arrived too late. They remembered having arrived at the door of the meeting place to help Grant in the confrontation, but they had a lapse of time in their memory.

Boss stared at the two ex-allies before fleeing. He wiped away a few tears, for he wasn't of iron, lamenting for having closed the life of one of the most beloved and promising student, but dangerous one. He knew that within the plans he had, Grant could hardly make it. Now there was a whole group wasted and almost ten years of work thrown away. He drove to a bar and met his cop friend at a reserved table.

"Have you dealt with your rebel vigilantes?" The cop charged.

"I did what I had to do. Now leave me alone. "

Martinez grabbed the beer and dried the glass in a few strokes. He ordered another glass. He was prepared to leave that bar, completely drunk. He could be the villain, but he still had a heart.


	25. Grave

Artie put the tape down and fumbled for the knot. What did his grandfather do? He closed his eyes and tried to remember the valuable teachings of his late grandfather on how to tie a knot, something Artie's father never knew how to do. Mr. Abrams suffered a fulminating heart attack at the wheel when young Artie was only nine. His grandfather returned from a football game in which he took three of his five grandchildren. After a walk in a diner, Mr. Abrams took the freeway to return home. Everything seemed fine, until Mr. Abrams began to feel ill. He leaned against the road, and the older grandson picked up the phone to call an ambulance. Artie was in the car and remembers in more detail than he wanted to see the old man he loved to roll his eyes, got pale, and moan. He stopped moaning before the paramedics arrived. The trip to the hospital in the ambulance was mere formality.

"Damn this tie," he mumbled when he couldn't remember how to tie the knot. He put on his black jacket, floated over to the chair, and sat down to get out of his dormitory.

He went down to the hall and waited for the girls. Santana and Mercedes arrived in well-behaved black dresses. They didn't exchange words. They just got in Santana's old car. It was Saturday: Grant's funeral. It was the first one that Artie had the displeasure of going since his grandfather's death. Unlike the wheelchair friend, Santana has never been to a funeral, despite the loss of some family members. Grant would be the first person who died she truly care. The feeling hadn't changed since the moment she heard the news from a phone call she had received from Mercedes. Santana was saying goodbye to Jenny, who was going out of the country. Between kisses and hugs, Santana answered the call of Mercedes. She had no floor after that.

Artie was "on the automatic". He and Matt break their friend's body still fresh and the scene was traumatic. The hatred he felt for the Boss was profound. He hated him for the death of a great friend and hated him for having awakened such disgusting feelings within him. The only consolation was that the counterattack was on its way. A better and more dignified one. Grant left very specific instructions for him. It was as if he had guessed he was going to die. Well, Grant was a mathematician. Maybe he'd even figured scenario probabilities.

"Matt said he'll meet us at the graveyard. He and Quinn" Mercedes told her wheelchair friend.

"Okay," Artie's voice was still blurry. "Is Rachel going to the funeral?"

"She's not ready," Santana grunted. "And she barely knew Grant, anyway."

"And Brittany?" Artie glanced at Mercedes and was worried to see Santana hold the steering wheel of the car harder.

"I don't care about Brittany right now" Santana took a deep breath to control her anger. "If she shows up, fine. But if she shows up with him, I swear I won't control myself."

"I don't think Brittany is still with him" Artie defended the dancer. "It doesn't suit her. Martinez should keep her in the dark or manipulate her mind."

"Still," Santana grunted. "She's his lover."

"You promised, San" Mercedes warned.

"I'm going to respect Grant for today. Tomorrow is another day."

Mercedes turned on the radio. No one bothered. Marisa Monte was singing Diariamente. Long song about relationships and simple solutions.

" _Para todas as coisas, dicionário._ _Para que fiquem prontas, paciência. Para dormir a fronha, madrigal. Para brinca na gangorra, dois"_.

Marisa's soft voice and simple arrangement were reassuring. It transformed the journey into a surreal one in which the occupants of the car could imagine for a moment that life was even uncomplicated.

" _Para aumentar a vitrola, sábado. Para a cama de mola, hóspede. Para trancar bem a porta, cadeado._ _Para que serve a calota, Volkswagen._ "

They arrived at the cemetery and saw the people coming out of the funeral chapel on their way to the funeral. Santana pushed his friend's chair toward the group that accompanied the coffin. They walked slowly, sadly, resisting the urge to cry. Quinn, Matt were already there. No sign of Brittany. Martinez shouldn't even be there. Artie and Matt pointed out the ex-mentor as a killer to the cops, and he was on the run.

As the priest spoke before the coffin, under many tears of Grant's parents and his younger sister, the vigilantes were united. Santana was holding Artie's hand and Mercedes's head was leaning against her shoulder. Quinn and Matt were just next door, making a solid unit of friends.

"... everything walks to the same place. Everything comes from dust and everything goes back to dust..." said the priest under sighs and whimpers.

Mercedes held her breath. She was the first to see a pretty girl approaching wearing a hat. Brittany. Immediately she looked to the side, where Santana was, and prayed that her friend would be so absorbed in the priest's speech that she didn't notice the presence of the dancer, who kept her distance. Too late. Santana closed her expression and threatened to cause disturbance in the environment to take satisfaction from her friend. But something was holding her back. Matt. He clearly used the power to contain the vigilante.

"Calm down, San," Matt whispered next to his friend. "She had been his friend longer than us."

"Calm down?" Santana raised her voice a little, catching the attention of the people ahead.

"It's neither time nor place," Matt insisted. "Think of Grant."

"Maybe it's time and place."

Matt had no choice but to grab her arm and drag her away from the crowd. If Matt weren't using telekinesis over her, escort would be impossible.

"You want to calm down!" Matt shoved her as they approached the parking lot.

"I'm going to kill that guy. He killed Grant. Maybe I can get his attention by doing some damage on his lover."

"You're not going to do this!"

"Give me a good reason not to."

"After all, it's Brittany! She has saved you from death a few times and you owe her a lot. Besides, I don't think Brittany is any closer to Martinez anymore."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because Martinez is a fugitive and the cops came looking for him at her house. Brittany didn't know anything. You know she can't lie."

"She didn't say anything to the cops, maybe she would say something to me." Santana hinted that she could use force.

"You can't, Santana. You know you can't do any of this. You are our reference now."

"I am no reference or example to anyone."

"Yes, you are," Matt managed. "You may deny it for now, but Grant knew that. He died to protect you."

Santana retreated a few steps and wept harder.

"Don't throw this shit on me. Don't throw that responsibility on me!"

"Wanting to hurt Brittany just to hurt Martinez? This is not you."

"People change."

"Not so, San. Not you." Matt took advantage of her friend's fragility and hugged her, allowing her to cry all she needed at that moment.

They returned to the group as people dispersed after the coffin had descended. All the vigilantes greeted Grant's parents and the sister before they left. There was no sign of Brittany, which was good. The group wasn't ready to face their friend yet, however innocent she might be. And Brittany really was. She didn't share anything with Martinez's actions. In fact, she was only one more victim he used as a sex toy.

Grant's death was a shock to the dancer. It was as terrible as to hear on the news that Martinez was the prime suspect in the murder. Something that the police would conclude with the arrival of the result of the DNA and corporal exculpation examinations (besides the testimonies of two people).

"How about a drink now?" Matt suggested "we should drink in honour of Grant."

"You go. I have to get Beth in school soon enough." Quinn stared at the others who barely understood her mother's responsibilities. No matter how serious and urgent the situation was, Quinn would always think of Beth in the first place. It was a fact.

"I'll give you a ride," Santana offered.

Matt handed the car keys and document to his girlfriend, and they kissed each other. While Quinn come back to her home, Matt, Santana, Artie and Mercedes went to the old and well-known restaurant. They ordered snacks and drinks stronger than a mere beer. There they made a small celebration and homage to the great friend. They remembered funny things, Matt well remembered the hatred that Santana felt because She couldn't hit a punch that was in the mathematician during the trainings.

"He pissed me off..." Santana laughed. "He pissed me off a lot."

"The coolest thing was when you ended up on the floor facing the dirty water in the gym gutter." Artie smiled.

"Pee drip, that's right. That water stank."

"Do you remember that time Grant wanted to prove to Santana that he wasn't a snob and invited us to that fancy reception?" Mercedes said with her mouth full of chips.

"Don't tell me!" Artie hid his face. "His mother was horrified when we left eating everything we could see... Then I saw her ask Mercedes if we had never seen food in our lives."

"Grant was having fun at our expense... that bastard." Santana drank. "For a moment I thought Mrs. Fish would send us to stay and wash the dishes as compensation for the loss of the crab meat."

"And also for stealing those expensive wine..." Artie laughed.

"It was a great wine." Mercedes smiled.

"The best" Santana finished.

"I can't believe you didn't invite me to taste the expensive wine," Matt complained.

"Huh? Come on! You're de adult here" Santana snorted with laughter.

"The worst thing is that Santana took a bottle for herself. So unfair!" Artie complained.

"It's not my fault that I have a metabolism that makes me take longer to get drunk. On the other hand, I can drink more! Die of envy."

They drank, they laughed, and at last Santana took them all home. Mercedes was most affected by alcohol, followed by Matt. Artie never had a habit of drinking so much. Santana left her friends in their places. Since Mercedes was completely wasted, Santana helped to take off her shoes and covered her with a blanket. Mercedes quickly fell asleep. The vigilante kissed her friend's head before sitting on her own bed and quickly becoming uneasy. She had to try to do something, anything, not to fall into the bullshit of hunting Martinez starting with an unpleasant interrogation involving Brittany.

But the phone rang. She got up, and answer it, and then she took the car keys.

...

"You mean you won't talk to Kurt?" Finn frowned.

He was in the living room at the Berry's house. Hiram was out, but Leroy was there to watch his daughter. Finn was expecting a cold reception from Leroy, but when Rachel received him indifferently, it was a shock. He expected kisses and go to her room. But he won a shy hug and was asked if he would like a glass of water.

"I spoke to Kurt yesterday. On the phone" Rachel defended herself.

"I mean, in person."

"I'm not ready to leave this house, Finn."

"Why? Help me understand how possibly you aren't prepared to leave the house? It's like you're self-imposed a type of punishment. It makes no sense."

"What happened. The explosion and everything, it's not easy for me."

"It's not for me either, and Kurt was at the hospital." Finn still refused to mention Santana, as if she had never been there. He did everything possible not to mention her name as if he wanted to erase Santana from his girlfriend's memory. As if to erase the memory of cheat.

"It was my fault" Rachel crossed her arms and asked in her mind for her boyfriend to stop insisting.

"So you're not going to the meeting tomorrow at my mother's house?"

"What meeting?"

"At least you opened your message box?"

"What meeting, Finn?"

"Let's decide things about the theater group. Only with Schuester, Emma and the original cast."

"What things?"

"The new date for the open night. The adaptations, vote."

"What a vote?"

"The main one, to begin with, about suing Santana for the damage she did."

"Damage?" Rachel was in shock. "You can't do that. She was a pain in the ass most of the time, but by no means thwarted our schedule of the rehearsals and wasn't responsible for the postponement of the open night. I was!"

"Mr. Schuester thinks differently. And Puck. And Kurt. I don't know about Tina, but it doesn't matter."

"Are you telling me that the vote is merely symbolic? No matter what you say, you're going to file a lawsuit on Santana's back for nothing?"

"That girl... she's a troublemaker, Rach. Don't see? Look how much she stirred in your head."

"My head was shaken well enough before she kissed me, Finn."

"What are you talking about?"

"What do you think I'm talking about? You can't be that dumb!"

"Rachel, I'm here fighting for our relationship and to help you get over it. I'm here swallowing the fact that you had intimate contact with that girl and doing my best to get over it. Everything I have done and I do is aimed at the future of our relationship..."

"And I'm here trying to reconcile the image of my sweet boyfriend with the man beating a woman in the middle of my living room!" Rachel pointed.

"She didn't even hurt that much!"

"Is that your excuse?"

They both fell silent. A tense, full of hurt.

"You really let her stay between us and I didn't even notice." Finn put his hand on his head and moaned. "Worse, you don't even feel like trying to fix our relationship. I don't know how to say what you want anymore. It's not like it used to be. I always thought we were forever."

"Me too, Finn. Me too... but I don't know about anything anymore."

"All because of her..." he said angrily.

"I don't think so... my life... I've never planned to stay here in this city, but every year all I see is that I get tighter and tighter. I began to question certain things, about what I gave up doing, about risking, about staying here. To stay by your side... "

"We both give up things to be together!"

"What did you give up, Finn?" At the silencing of her boyfriend, Rachel continued. "Everything you have supposed to have given up hasn't even come close to the dreams I gave up, from my accommodation... from that illusion of a stable life in a small town."

"Illusion? We have a good life here. You work and study... and I work too and we have our musical theater group. Don't you see that we already have what many people just dream about? What a life in the metropolis, where you would be only one more, could be better?"

"I serve tables in a restaurant!" Rachel raged. "I've never even come close to what I've always dreamed of, Finn. Worst of all is that I let myself be accommodated because of a guy whose biggest ambition is to be a football coach of the school team!"

"Rachel..."

"I can't look at your face now, Finn. I love you, but I'm sorry, I can't look at you because all I see is my own failure. Santana... she's just passing through. She'll go away as soon as she graduate... go to the metropolis to design buildings and forget this city, while I'm going to be here serving tables until get pregnant and become a housewife!"

"Is that how you feel? That I ruined your life and your grandiose dreams? I've always supported you, Rachel!"

"Of course you did... it's me the wrong one, Finn. Make no mistake about it. You're the right one, the perfect one, the popular guy." Rachel turned her face and said in a low tone. "Maybe I'm not a good person for you right now, and neither are you to me."

"What!" Finn said aggressively. "Are you breaking up with me?" He grabbed Rachel's arm more tightly than it should have, making her nervous and uncomfortable. "Rachel, pay attention to what you're doing..."

"Finn, let me go," Rachel said firmly.

"No! You're not thinking straight after everything happened." Finn continued to hold her tight.

"Finn!" Rachel screamed and closed her eyes when she felt them burn.

"Rachel, look at me and answer that you don't love me anymore!"

"You'd better let go of my daughter, boy." Leroy appeared in the living room.

"Stay out of it, man. You're not even her father! "

Leroy's blood boiled. He was accustomed to being discriminated by ignorant people because he was black and gay. But to say that he wasn't Rachel's father was the biggest offense anyone could ever do to him, because there was nothing he loved more in that world than that girl he had raised since when she was just a baby who had been literally abandoned by the biological mother at the door of the clinic where Hiram worked.

"Drop. My. Daughter. Now."

Leroy said slowly as he approached the young man. Finn wasn't reasoning. He left Rachel, only to turn on Leroy and hit him with a punch.

"Stay out of it, you nigga!" Finn was completely unbalanced emotionally, as if a violent and racist monster had taken over him.

"Leave my dad alone!" Rachel screamed and shrugged, hugging her own body, feeling like she would explode again.

Leroy kicked Finn to gain time and run to the kitchen. He opened the drawer and took the .38 pistol. Finn might no longer respect the smaller, lighter man, but he certainly respected a gun.

"Get out of my property" Leroy warned.

Finn lifted his hands and stepped back. He walked out the front door and into the truck. He took a deep breath before starting to pound the wheel of the car in a hysterical attack.

When Finn knocked on the living room door, Rachel despaired and ran to her own room to try to control her own power. It wasn't easy. That wasn't what she had in mind. She wasn't planning to end a long relationship. She cried on the floor of her old bedroom, leaning against the wardrobe, and stayed there for over an hour. When she finally had the strength to get up, she went to the bathroom to wash her face. Rachel put her hands in the cold water of the sink, gathered a handful of the liquid, and washed her face. She wiped her face on the towel and looked at herself in the mirror, hoping she would reflect pure misery. The mirror played its part and showed more: Rachel saw her red eyes reflected. She panicked. Rachel felt she couldn't handle it anymore and ran to her cell phone.

...

Santana arrived in less than ten minutes as soon as she received the phone call from Rachel. Her heart racing momentarily forgot her average drunkenness and the fact that she had buried a friend that morning. She parked in front of Berry's house and ran. She found the front door open.

"Rachel?" No answer. "Rachel!" He insisted.

"She's in her room," Leroy warned. "She doesn't let me in. Maybe will be luckier."

Santana ran upstairs. The door of Rachel's room was locked, but Santana thought she didn't have time to be subtle and broke the lock. Let Rachel's parents fix the door afterwards. She found her friend sitting on the floor with her hands on her head, swaying clearly in discomfort.

"I can't explode. I can't explode. I can't explode."

"Hi." Santana spoke softly and approached cautiously. "Your father said you were locked up here."

Rachel opened her eyes still red.

"I can't explode... I can't."

"Maybe you can." She offered her hand for Rachel to get up. "Come with me."

"But..."

"If you trust me, come with me."

Rachel took her friend's hand and then found herself being led out of the house toward the car. She panicked at being unprotected from those walls, in a public environment, with red eyes. Santana took the old car and drove it as fast as she could out of town. The vigilante knew a place, an isolated one she'd camped with college friends in her freshman year.

"Hold tight. Just a few more minutes."

Santana turn to the gravel road and walked a few meters inland. Then she stopped the car and ran to open Rachel's door.

"Come," offered her hand once more.

Rachel held her without hesitation, and they walked a few yards to the clearing used for encampments.

"Now blow it up, Rach. Give your best!"

Santana lay on the ground and waited for the powerful wave of air movement. It came in seconds. She was unharmed. Santana thought seriously that the force of the wave was overrated, since in the open environment it seemed to be weaker. The Vigilante counted to ten, then looked at the side where Rachel was. She found her friend still standing. Rachel was panting.

"That was a good explosion," Santana said softly as she stood up. "How it feels?"

"Better... much better... I'm relieved."

"That's good. This is very good. But may I ask you now what led you to lose control?"

"Finn."

"What about him?"

"He went to my dad's home. We... we argued about some things and we broke up. He fought with me, with my father. Things went wrong, but he ended up leaving."

"And you broke up with him, like that all of a sudden?"

"I can't tell you," Rachel whimpered.

"Come here." Santana opened her arms and offered shelter, but was refused by Rachel. "What is it?" She frowned as she saw her friend take a step back.

"I need some time, Santana. I need to think."

"I'm just offering you a hug."

"For me it's so much more than that. Your hug is not just a ordinary hug. It mean something."

"Okay." Santana accepted the refusal. "Would you like some tai chi before you go home? It will help you until you are strong enough to control that energy within you."

"Thank you, but no. Today I just want to go home and stay in my room crying."

"Are you sure? You can walk a little bit. I can wait for you in my car, if you want."

"I want to go home, Santana."

Santana didn't want to argue with Rachel, so they got in the car and made their way back, this time unhurriedly that could get them in trouble with traffic cops. Silence prevailed. No music, no radio. As Santana stood in front of Rachel's parents' house for the second time in the day, she looked at her friend and gave her a weak smile.

"Call me if you need me."

"I know... and Santana?"

"Yes?"

"I saw your message saying that Grant would be buried today. I think I can imagine what you felt and yet you ran to help me. Thanks."

Santana just nodded and Rachel got out of the car. The vigilante waited for the friend to enter her house and then to leave. She was frustrated, sad and desperate to get drunk. Santana went to a market and bought a bottle of vodka. She would drink the whole liquid. When she arrived back in the dormitory, she could no longer see Mercedes lying down. She didn't even see a sign from her best friend. The vigilante had no idea where Mercedes might have gone. But she didn't care that much at that moment. She opened the bottle and drank.

…

Santana woke up suddenly because of an insistent cell phone. She wanted to throw the device out the window and go back to sleep. She was half dizzy with her dry, bitter mouth. She felt like crap and depressed. She picked up the cell phone, it was dark in the room, and answered the call.

" _I hope you're not so drunk,_ " said the male voice. " _It would be too bad if you weren't in a position to try and rescue your sweetheart._ " Santana pounced on the bed.

"What?" She shouted.

"Wear you lame uniform, vigilante, and let's settle our deal at the place where your supposed secret romance began. But if you're late, I'll finish doing the work that Howard started."

Santana ran to the closet and put her old trousers on, stumbling to attention from Mercedes, who had just entered the dormitory. The mask was within reach of her hands.

"San? What are you doing?"

"Rachel."

That's all she said before she opened the door and ran.


	26. In the park

Santana raced around the campus in the middle of the night with the mask on, no matter if some classmates would comment on it. She wasn't thinking of them. She wasn't thinking of anyone else in the world. Her mind was focused on reaching the park to save Rachel. Everything else could be put aside, despite fear and anguish. Fear of what she would find, fear of losing the person she liked, fear of dying. Her body wasn't responding as it should be. Her muscles burned in the race, her breath was panting, she was slower than normal, she felt weak, her vision sometimes shuffled. She was in bad shape as a result of sleepless nights and the drunkenness she hadn't yet recovered.

The Boss's plan couldn't have expected a better moment to catch the strongest person in the group, the Wolverine of those vigilantes. The villain knew the recipe for defeating the person with a stronger sense of heroism and greater threat to his plans: physical and mental fatigue. Santana could kill someone with a single punch. An elephant could die. It was a fact. The studies on the vigilante were more complex than it might seem, as Grant found out and paid for by accessing and erasing such information.

The medical examinations and studies protected by the codes written on the destroyed notebooks suggested that each vigilante had the potential to develop other abilities married to the gifts they possessed. Artie could sustain faster and longer flights. Brittany could elevate healing gifts beyond cure the flesh. With proper training she could, for example, take Artie out of the wheelchair. Matt had vast field to develop telekinesis. He could either raise a car with the power of his mind or separate all the parts and keep them under control within a field. It would be the final stage of the capacity and control he hadn't even dreamed of owning. Quinn was a vast field that had only just begun to be discovered, and the Boss wasn't yet sure of the limits or even all the capacity Quinn had. Grant was the person with the least margin of development, but he became a threat by becoming a parallel and more charismatic leader than the Boss ever was. He was the brain, Santana was the heart.

Santana had principles as strong as Grant's, but unlike her dead friend, her field of development was little explored. Santana could run faster, hold things heavier than a pickup truck, jump farther. She would do much more if she had a correct training plan, thus becoming a powerful weapon. Her power of regeneration would be sharpened and aging could be delayed to the point of making her live beyond one hundred years in great shape. In addition, she had resistance to mental powers when she was concentrated enough. But the Boss never bothered to pass this information on to any of his disciples.

So there was the set scene: Santana was running and the Boss was waiting. She had no information. He Knew everything necessary. She had no plans. He had a scheme. She had the despair. He had the calm. She was alone. He wasn't.

Santana pulled the air as soon as she reached the edge of the park. She put her hands to her knees and coughed. Fucking drunkenness. Damn cheap vodka. She drew in the air once more. The vigilante looked around and saw no one. She walked through the park and avoided the small bike path and the streetlights, but chose to walk parallel to it. She saw two people passing by and as they didn1t comment on anything strange they might have seen, the vigilante came to an easy conclusion that the scenario would occur even inside the green area. Her eyes widened through the mask when she saw a person tied to a tree.

Rachel.

Santana ran to untie her. Rachel looked panicked, made dramatic gestures, and screamed.

"Calm down, calm down," Santana said urgently and lifted her mask enough for Rachel to identify her face. "It's me!"

"I... I... Santana?" Rachel was confused, doubting what had happened to her. "San?"

"I'll get you out of here in two seconds."

"I don't know how I come here..."

"That's ok. This is not your fault." Santana worked on the rope knot. It was tight and the rush was inimical to good coordination. She thought about trying to break the rope, but she feared it would put more pressure on Rachel's body.

"Sorry I..."

"All right, Rach..." Santana felt someone hold her head and she screamed loudly because of the pain of the psychic attack. In the reflex, she struck a blow from the aggressor who moved away.

It was the Boss. Santana was completely dizzy, dejected. Her vision was blurred and she knew that her defeat was near as soon as the attacker rose and applied the attack again.

"Rach..." Santana said disoriented, wanting to vomit. "Rach... time to explode..."

"But..." Rachel glanced to the side and saw the assailant rise slowly. In front of her was Santana still sitting on the grass throwing up everything she had right.

Rachel didn't know how to do it, how to evoke her power, but she had to find a way to explode quickly. She tried to concentrate, but the confusion of the moment made everything more complicated. The man she had only heard about was approaching Santana.

"Beautiful reflection," the man limped. "But it will do no good."

"For... what... this circus?" Santana tried to pull away and gain time. "Why her?"

"Your sweetheart?" He pointed at Rachel still tied to the tree. "You've been careless, Santana. You avoided my presence so much, even so, in the moments when I could read the minds of your friends, I found only information that would leave you with this girl. It wasn't difficult to connect the dots. The fact that you saved her, and then she saved you. The invasion of a vigilante in her apartment. The case of the bridge. The icing on the cake was the incident in the apartment when that dumb boyfriend of hers find out that you were having an affair. Did you really think all this would go unnoticed by me? How I wanted to make you suffer a little more for everything you destroyed."

"You... are... sadistic." Santana suffered to keep her mind focused. But the nausea was strong, just like the dizziness.

"Since you're out of action. How would it feel to see her forget absolutely about everything? How would you feel if I made your girlfriend fall in love with me, just like I did with Brittany?"

"No..." Santana tried to move forward on the Boss, but she swayed and fell on the grass.

Rachel's eyes widened. The Boss was in front of her with a smile on his lips. He was sure that he would do a great deal of damage to her before torturing Santana to death. Desperation gripped her body and she shifted trying to loosen the rope.

"Hello again, little girl." Martinez stared at her. "So you care enough to suffer just thinking she won't be here again tomorrow? I can fix this. You just don't need to resist so much. I can make your pain go away."

"Stay away from me," Rachel cried, her eyes became red.

"So you made that mess?" Martinez smiled. "You know, I have plans to reassemble my team now that the two rotten apples have been cut out. I can restart with you."

"No!"

Rachel screamed and the wave escaped the body that somehow was more directed at Martinez, causing the telepath to fly ten yards before falling to the ground. Santana stood still very dizzy. She was sure the dizziness wouldn't go away so quickly. The good thing is, there was nothing more in her stomach to vomit. She stumbled to Rachel and smiled faintly as she tried to work on the ropes.

"Good work..." Santana used the force to loosen one of the knots, but it was difficult with all the incoordination she felt. "I wish I had a penknife here..."

"Stop!" A male voice came from behind. "Raise your hands where I can see them!"

Santana looked back and saw a pair of cops with pointed revolvers. She sighed, lowered her mask, and raised her arms. She felt slow to react to the cop and couldn't risk hurting Rachel. She got up slowly and did her best to stand steady.

"Get away from her slowly," the duo's cop ordered, and Santana did her best to obey without stumbling.

"Grant Fish killer is right there." Santana pointed toward the old mentor, but the Boss was no longer stretched out on the floor. He had run away. Typical.

"Only if the killer is a ghost," the man of the pair approached Santana with handcuffs in hand and the pistol still pointed. "It's finally a pleasure, vigilante."

"Is everything okay, Berry?" The cop asked.

"It wasn't the vigilante's fault. It was a trap. Leave her alone! You have to go after the other."

"We'll see that later. Turn around" the cop ordered the vigilante, who didn't obey.

"How do you know her name?" Santana said slowly.

"You think you're in a position to ask questions," the cop pointed the gun at Santana's head and his finger tightened on the trigger.

"How do you know her name?" Santana repeated.

"She's more famous than you might think." The cop smiled, trying to keep calm. "Turn around and keep your hands up!" He said the words. "You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say could and should be used against you in court" was within walking distance of the vigilante."

When he grabbed one of Santana's wrists to handcuff the her, the reaction came. Santana felt the effects of the psychic attack, was tired, confused, half drunk and frustrated. But she was fully aware that this was a corrupt cop and she wouldn't be arrested. She would be executed. So, she turned abruptly against the cop who had just read the rights, prevented him from completing the handcuffs and hit him with the back of the hand that carried him to the ground. The other officer immediately pointed the pistol and fired, but Santana was already running in the darkness of the park. She needed to think fast about a way to get rid of Rachel. And she had to deal with the Boss. She wanted to kill him.

One of the cops was chasing her. Santana was slow, she ran with bumps and stumbles. The cop fired once as an alert, but Santana continued. The cop was approaching and the vigilante was doing her best, but the cop was approaching, they were near the edge of the park. If she won the city, she would be more exposed, but could increase the chances of escape. What about Rachel? She needed to rescue her. When she realized that the cop was a few steps behind, she turned and tried to leave her arm. Surprisingly, the cop not only deflected as he struck with his feet, causing Santana to unbalance and hit a tree. They faced each other. Santana was surprised behind the mask, while the cop had a small smile on his face.

"I don't fall for the same trick twice," he said without showing signs of weariness, unlike Santana's. "I was looking forward to that."

"You." Santana drew her breath. "It's part of that secret program to turn people like us into obedient zombies."

"Obedient zombies?" The cop scorned. "You must have a good imagination. We are much more than that. We were summoned and trained to fight pariahs like you and to keep things as they should be. "

"Of course," the vigilante was alert to the officer's movements. "Things as they should be is to keep the cretins who give you a good life in power. Say one thing: after you're done with me, will you by chance go back to your mansion until you receive the next dirty mission? Are you going to get the mayor out of jail? I have heard that the letter of resignation is already drafted."

"Certainly I won't be here with you." He smirked and stepped up against the vigilante.

He was quick and punched her in the face that made her go to the floor. He seemed to want to play a little, because he didn't attack again immediately.

"Martinez said you were tough." He kicked the pit of her stomach. "Maybe he made a mistake" another kick that made Santana spit into her own mask. "You are nothing. Get up. I've waited so long for this, and I don't want to leave here so disappointed."

The vigilante got up with difficulty. She was dizzy, with nausea. Her breath continued to wheeze and she had difficulty focusing. The man in front of her moved deftly. He was playing, mocking. He hit a punch in the middle of her forehead as if playing boxing. One more and another. The vigilante just didn't fall to the ground again because a tree trimmed her. The cop continued to play and deconcentrated in relation to the rest of the environment. He was fast. Very fast, but he was against a stronger opponent. The vigilante grabbed him by the wrist and gave a powerful counterattack that sent him to the ground. Unlike the cop, she wasn't kidding and took the chance to throw punches and kicks. They were uncoordinated punches, weak compared to what they would be if Santana were in shape, yet they were powerful. A punch and the cop's ribs were broken. A hateful punch and a jaw, too. The cop didn't resist and passed out. Seeing that the man didn't move, Santana was frightened. She checked his breathing and was relieved to feel it. Then, she left the cop and stepped away in vague steps. She was shocked by her own attitude. The last time she had gotten out of control was when she saw Howard Battes rapping Rachel.

There was movement nearby and Santana needed to get away. She tried to run, but she stumbled over something. She cursed herself at the fumbling movement. She looked up and the evening pitch revealed the person she most hated at that moment. The Boss was there, in front of her, pointing to the same weapon he used to kill Grant.

" _End of the line, vigilante_ " the sound came high inside Santana's head, which groaned.

"So that's it?" Santana stood up and scorned the old master. "Did you let that other take his turn before you kill me? I'm honored."

" _It didn't have to be that way. You forced the whole situation. We could be the best, we could get a lot of money from our talents. But your sense of honour and heroism was a disaster._ "

"Is that why you joined us? To make money from us?"

" _I wanted your good. Too bad that plan doesn't include you anymore._ "

"Don't you have the guts to break up with me alone? Am I not going to have the same consideration you had in killing Grant? Did you have to kidnap Rachel and still use that other guy?"

"Do you think that vociferating this information will have anything in your favour? They are like us, vigilante. They also want your head." He said with his own voice.

"I hate you Martinez." It could be just a phrase, but it had a great meaning. There was Martinez masked, like the Boss figure. Still, Santana crossed the mental barrier and called him by name, while he couldn't say her name. That scared him. "May the bullets of this revolver find their way, otherwise I'll kill you."

"Good night."

Santana decided not to ease and ran. If she was a target, at least she would be a moving target. She didn't know, but the Boss's mental attack gave her an advantage. As she had her thoughts shuffled, beyond the natural resistance, the Boss couldn't anticipate her movements. Santana ran behind the trees. She tried to dodge, she stumbled, she got up and continued. She wouldn't stop to think, she only acted while she was being persecuted. But she had physical fatigue and knew that if a miracle didn't happen, all her effort would only delay the fatal shot.

Santana felt a sting in her leg and completely lost her balance. She fell to the floor. It was a shot. She couldn't run away anymore. She took a deep breath and lay back on the lawn. The Boss was slowly approaching. He was in no hurry.

That was when an air move happened, destabilizing the boss. He shot and missed the target completely. That time, he was literally hit in the head by a heavy backpack. It was Artie who threw the object from above.

"Let's get out of here." Rachel ran to Santana and tried to lift her.

"How?"

"No time to explain. We need to get out of here," Artie said urgently. He saw police reinforcements approaching the scene and they weren't kidding.

"Stop!" A cop ordered, but something, a strange force lifted them off the ground. Suddenly, their bodies were hurled away.

"Matt," Santana whispered. It was almost unbelievable that the remaining vigilantes were there to help her.

"Next time, don't run to a trap without warning us" Matt said still slightly drunk. He helped Santana to her feet. "Can you walk?"

"No... I need a hospital."

"Or Brittany." Artie said.

"Or a cemetery," the Boss's said. The four of them listened. It was his actually voice. "My old pupils... your fools. You would have a bright future. But they decided to help another corpse."

"You should be arrested for the rest of your life, Martinez," Santana said firmly. "You have corrupted yourself. You, Angelina, the prosecutor and the mayor. You agreed to participate in a scheme that diverted public money just to legitimize the corrupt actions of the mayor and used us in his dirty game. You killed Grant Fish. You disgust me."

"And? You can't prove that I did all this."

"We can," Santana challenged. "Do you think we've got the bullshit to keep the information just for us?"

"You told that little ark journalist and who else?"

"And other people." Matt continued the confrontation.

"For this girl who was swallowed up by all this in less than a month?" He smiled "That one who can barely bear the thought of having a power? The coward who prefers to hide because she is too afraid to someone take her daughter?"

"That's me!" The voice came from behind.

Martinez felt two frozen hands pressing against the sides of his head. The action of Quinn's power was so fast that he felt his whole body wince at the cold snap. His thought became diffused, dizzy, giddy, he lost control of himself. He tried to take the young woman close. She moved her body and kicked Quinn down on the floor. She was surprised to see that she wore a mask, despite the clothes that were common to her. Matt seized the opportunity and used the power to throw the boss against a tree. The impact made him breathless. Artie flew and pushed an approaching cop and fired at Matt. Quinn stood up and took the cop's hand, which bellowed as her hand felt frozen. She dropped the gun and Quinn twisted her arm again. Matt used the telekinesis to lift the cop a few feet off the ground and then dropped it. Martinez remained. The ex-mentor, still disoriented, leaned his hand on Matt's head, who screamed and fainted with the psychic attack. Quinn ran toward her boyfriend and laid her icy hands on Martinez's back at the lungs. Another shock that destabilized him. Artie took advantage to push Martinez close to Santana, who was watching everything leaning on a tree. She trimmed the former mentor and it was her turn to smile cynically.

"Good night!" She applied a winning punch.

The five of them looked at the knocked out Boss with amazement and satisfaction. Santana leaning on Matt and Rachel, Artie was floating and Quinn had her hands on her knee.

"Beautiful punch" Matt commented.

"Thank you," Santana replied.

"What do we do with him?" Quinn scratched her cheek. "And how can you keep this thing for so long?"

"You get used to it." Artie patted her friend's shoulder.

"I think this guy is too dangerous to stay alive," Matt said.

"Killing someone is not our style," Santana mused.

"But if he continues, he knows too much and will turn on us," Quinn mused. "He knows how to manipulate minds. How do we know he's not manipulating the judge and the jury? Worse, if we leave him here, everyone will think he's a victim, who didn't kill Grant and everything."

They heard nearby sirens needing to act fast. That's when Artie showed the cell phone that recorded the audio of everything.

"He won't be able to manipulate the mind of an entire population."

Artie flew up carrying Santana with him. Matt, Quinn and Rachel ran through the park. Officers arrived at the scene, found a wounded cop, others were still confused, as well as the 'vigilante' they had been looking for in the last few days. They didn't hesitate to handcuff the unconscious man and removed his mask. It was the fugitive, Guillermo Martinez.

…

"How did you find me?" Santana said as she entered Matt's car, aided by Quinn and Rachel.

"Mercedes called everybody and you were lucky the park was the first place we looked," Matt explained.

"Oh, well thought!"

"I also say…" Quinn pressed the bullet wound.

"Hospital?" Rachel asked.

"How about some tacos first?" Santana smiled, but the truth was that she was pale with the loss of blood.

"Let's go to Brittany's house," Quinn practically sentenced.

"No Brittany... oh." Santana leaned against Rachel.

"Let's go to Brittany," Matt mused. "We can't forget that she is and will always be one of us."

They get out of there, leaving behind all the mess they did in the park. They were silent. Nothing else needed to be said. The car stopped in front of the Pierce house. Matt called Brittany's cell phone, which a few minutes later appeared in the front door. She waved to her friends and did her work without question. It was a way of making peace with the group of people she liked best.

CONCLUDES NEXT CHAPTER


	27. Paths

Santana still had on her face the marks of the confrontation with Martinez/The Boss. The news was buzzing with recent events, especially as an audio clip was leaked to the press with Martinez's talk about Grant Fish's murder. Although he didn't confess to the crime, it was implied that he was involved, which brought more elements to the case. Due to the revelation that Martinez had mental powers, doctors were called upon to apply drugs to the man that could inhibit mental abilities. Since there was nothing in science for this, doctors basically kept him stoned all the time in a sort of military prison.

This didn't diminish the desire of the police to want to identify the other vigilantes, which led Santana to think seriously about changing of city. On the one hand, she would love to finish college, have the degree she always dreamed of and be an architect. On the other hand, there was the side of her that she could no longer inhibit: she had to wear the mask and save people around town. But being a vigilante in a small town didn't seem like a smart move, however much the team had rid the population of a corrupt mayor and a sordid scheme of misappropriation.

Santana needed to think carefully about all the steps she should do, though the more she analysed, the less options she saw. She sat in the vigilante's favourite restaurant and waited while sipping a glass of natural orange juice. She wanted to ask for the television to be turned off, but she didn't want to argue with other clients.

"Santana Lopez." Santana looked at the young woman who was at the table. She was a very pretty woman with brown hair, gentle smile, blue eyes. She wore neutral-coloured clothes, too sober for her age. The young woman should be 20 at the most. She reached out to greet the architecture student. "My name is Marley Rose and I am... I mean, I was Grant Fish's assistant."

"Hello Rose." Santana greeted her and invited her to sit with a subtle gesture. "Sorry if I'm being rude, but can we cut through the unnecessary formalities and courtesies and get right to the point? What is this meeting about?"

"If that's what you want..." Marley got up and left a note on the table, enough to pay for the juice and the tip. "Miss Lopez, could you come with me?"

Santana didn't like that, but she was curious about what Grant's former assistant wanted with her. Marley tried to keep up the friendly expression as they left the restaurant toward the parking lot. Santana didn't fail to be impressed by the brand-new Ford sedan she drove. She sat in the passenger seat and tensed as the girl started driving toward the exit. They passed the south bridge, the exit of the city that went towards a region that was a kind of neighbourhood made exclusively by huts, where the nearest neighbour was at least 200 meters away. It was a place relatively close to town, populated by people with some money and who deprived by privacy above all else.

"Can you tell me what we're doing here?" Santana asked as Marley parked the car in front of a two-decker cabin.

Santana got out of the car and looked quickly at the construction that seemed solid.

"Grant bought this land just before he died," Marley explained. "But he put everything in your name."

"What?" Santana frowned.

"It's your propriety." Marley gave a small smile. "I brought you the documents for you to sign and I'm going to explain to you some of the instructions Grant left behind. Can we?" Marley pointed to the front door.

The first floor had virtually no room divider except the door and wall separating the kitchen from the utility room and a bathroom. The cabin was partially furnished. There was a three-seater sofa, a wooden table for ten people, and the kitchen with a stove and refrigerator. Upstairs was three bedrooms, a bathroom and a master bedroom. Only the master bedroom had a double bed and a closet. All other rooms needed to be furnished.

"Unfortunately Grant didn't have time to clean this house the way he wanted it," Marley said as she showed the place to the new owner.

"What is going on?"

"Can we sit in the living room?"

Santana nodded. They both went downstairs and settled into the large wooden table. Marley took out a bunch of folders with document contracts and arranged them in front of her and Santana.

"These documents are the deed of this house and the apartment."

"What apartment?"

"Which is located in Ernesto Nazareth street nº 36 in the Cross."

"This is..."

"In downtown, yes. It's a beautiful apartment on the terrace fully equipped with three rooms. We'll go there later. Please these are the scriptures you need to sign. "

"Not while you explain everything to me."

"Of course!" Marley smiled and took out an envelope. "Miss Lopez, you're also the beneficiary of life insurance made by Grant Fish."

"This doesn't make any sense..."

"I know, because he left me clear instructions." Marley handed another envelope to Santana.

"What is it?"

"It's sealed and addressed to you in case... I don't even know what's written there." Marley stood up. "I'll give you some space. I'll be outside."

Santana waited for Marley to leave and then opened the seal. She found a letter written in Grant's own hand.

 _"Hello headstrong vigilante and my dear friend Santana,_

 _Usually people make video for these things, but I always found that letters were more discreet, personal and elegant. Anyway, the point is that if you're reading this, it's a sign that I'm not alive any more, but you've probably beaten that bastard. Congratulations to you, little troglodyte, I knew you could do it. I have always had faith in you and in our friends._

 _The point is that without me around, you are the only leader. You will need to guide the others. But I know you don't have much money and, let's face it, protecting the city has financial costs. So, I worked to make sure you and the others got some support. It's not much, but I know you control your spending well._

 _I leave you a considerable piece of land in the forest and a functional apartment in downtown. You can use the cabin to train and rest a little bit. You can spend the weekend there with the others to develop their skills. The apartment can function as a base of operation. You can no longer amateurishly leap from building to building preventing car thieves. Great challenges lie ahead and you, all of you will need structure. You will need to prepare yourself._

 _You know how to contact Hermon. Trust him by distrusting him. Marley Rose is a good ally. She is the daughter of my father's cook and was practically raised with us. She's almost a younger sister to me. And the best of all, she knows how to deal with paperwork and bureaucracy. You can trust her. She knows about me and also knows about you._

 _The vigilantes are in your hands. Take good care of others. Open your eyes wide and keep our city safe. But don't forget to take care of yourself. Do not forget to have some fun. Find a love, go to parties and drink a good wine in my honour._

 _I know you have a great mission ahead of you, but know that you want, above all else, to be happy. I want all of you to be happy._

 _With love and already with longing,_

 _Grant._

 _P.S .: Please do not fall in love with Marley Rose. You already have too much trouble with women."_

Santana finished reading the letter and really wanted to drink some wine in honour of her friend. She got up and went out of the cabin, where Marley was leaning against her car, waiting for the new client.

"Okay, Rose. Besides solving bureaucratic problems, what else do you know?"

...

Rachel closed the last box, got up, and looked right into the room she had occupied for a long time in the apartment she shared with Kurt. She was moving back to his parents' house, and stay there temporarily until she decided what she would do with her own life. She was officially unemployed, thinking about give up the course in the community college and rethinking life. In fact, she urgently needed to reorganize herself. She had with her a pamphlet from the Shelby Corcoran's Theater Company in the metropolis. It was a small, but a professional company that also offered training courses such as script for theater, lighting, stage design, dance, and actors. But the courses were expensive and it was necessary to undergo a rigorous and disputed selection to be able to study there receiving scholarship. There was also another equally rigorous audition for anyone who wanted to be hired by the company. The auditions were only open once a year. The tests would happen in a month, which was the perfect time for Rachel to reorganize her own life.

It was also the time she needed to learn better to control herself. She also wanted to master her own powers and do useful things with them. Maybe her style was very different from Santana's, who patrolled the streets. Rachel had no such disposition to hunt for a thug, but she wanted to get really involved with a group of people like her. Besides, she liked those people, especially Quinn, whom she considered a good friend. And there was Santana. But Santana was a complicated affair.

"Hi, Rachel."

The singer saw the ex-boyfriend enter the apartment. Finn was taking things from Kurt, who would also move out of there and would probably spend a season at Burt and Carole's house.

"Hi Finn. Did you come get Kurt's things?"

"Yes." There was a brief uncomfortable silence between them. "He asked for you."

"I'll visit him soon. It just seems like the world's over in those last few weeks and I still have to take it all in."

Finn thought about making a harder comment and blame the girl he hated the most in the world, but none of it would make any difference to Rachel.

"Are you alright anyway?"

"I'm getting better, I'm reinventing myself. What about you?"

"I'm not well, Rach. I miss you so much." Finn approached his ex-girlfriend. "Could we talk one someday in a nicer place? Who knows how to have coffee together?"

"No." Rachel's sincerity shocked Finn. "I need some time for myself and as long as I don't find myself, I won't be good company for absolutely anyone."

"Won't even solve the issues of our theater company?"

"I'm going to do the first weekend of the play as I promised Schuester. Then Tina will replace me. She'll handle it."

"It's not fair, Rachel. We fight a lot for this company."

"Fight?" Rachel questioned with a calm that disconcerted the ex-boyfriend. "Or were we one more group of pampered people playing with the public money arranged by your stepfather?"

"Santana's poison must be too strong to make you say such things about our dream."

"Santana? Please, grow up! "

Finn was embarrassed by Rachel's incisive tone. She also realized that she was more direct to the point than she intended and tried to ponder.

"The point, Finn, is that I'm still egocentric, I admit, but I've got some self-criticism in those last few weeks. You should do the same. Our theater group never existed to add values or train professionals. It never had a purpose other than massaging our own egos. And if I stay in the group, it's like I'm never going to leave here. I always had dreams of leaving this city. Go beyond. To achieve this, I must start walking with my own legs."

"Is that what you want?"

"It's what I need."

Finn nodded and went into his brother's room. Unlike Rachel, he still needed to mature on himself.

...

Quinn crossed the street and entered the Community College. She was still in her bookstore's work uniform. She walked over to the office and handed over the documents and paid the tuition for the paralegal course. She had always wanted to one day become a lawyer and that course was as close as she could get at that moment. The confrontation with Martinez and her involvement with the vigilantes led her to think that she had spent too much time hiding and afraid that she needed to do something for herself that she needed to grow up.

Quinn planned how she could work, study, and take care of Beth. She could no longer attend amateur theater, but decided to leave only after the season ended with Tropicália. After all, it would be a waste to abandon the piece after so much rehearsing.

She returned to work to complete the rest of the shift. She was happy. She's never been so worried in her life, but she's never been so light. She had to spend one of the scariest nights of her life to realize she was empowered. Quinn was a superhero, and she felt very good about such a thought.

"Superhero at night and paralegal in the morning," Quinn whispered as she checked the papers she received from the secretary. "Who would have thought, Quinn Fabray. Who would say!"

...

(TWO WEEKS LATER)

It was opening night. The theater was almost at full capacity, which was good considering all production problems. Santana entered the theater accompanied by Marley, since Jenny was still abroad doing her final research. The vigilante didn't bother with the exchange, after all, Marley was a nicer company. Grant's former assistant had a similar story to that of the movie "Sabrina": the daughter of the unattractive maid who leaves the house, wins the world, and returns in a dazzling way to arouse the interest of the millionaire's kids. Or almost.

In fact, Marley was almost a year younger than Santana. She finished school at age 15 and the Fishes paid for the prodigy's faculty. Marley, as with some of the young people, spent a confused year in college where she was more partying than going to the classes. She tried alcohol, some drugs, and sex. No intervention worked, until life gave her a lesson. She suffered an accidental overdose at age 17 and a subsequent miscarriage when she didn't even know she was pregnant. That was a hard blow. Marley decided to go back to school, and when she returned to the city, Grant offered her a job.

When Santana heard Marley's story, she thought she might not connect with the new ally because she had a distinct life story. But they got along so well that Santana understood the alert in Grant's letter: Marley was someone very easy to like.

But all of Marley's sympathy couldn't compete with Rachel's magnetism. When the singer appeared on the scene, there was no one else around. The play itself was really amateurish, not much better than those in high schools. Santana gained such insight after she stared out. Quinn was the best actress, but all Rachel needed to do was sing and then the audience was won. Santana's heart was won, even though she knew the little diva didn't want to risk a relationship with the watcher, since she needed to focus on bringing her own life back. Would Santana be able to wait for Rachel until she was ready? Judging by that moment, yes, she would wait for the diva. Santana liked Jenny, but she loved Rachel.

At the end of the play, the applause. The cast went to the front of the stage and greeted the audience present. Rachel and Blaine received a bouquet of flowers, more applause and greetings. The debut of Tropicália was the expected success, despite the delay that the production suffered. In the end, already behind the scenes, after the cast toasting, Rachel left the place in the French. She headed toward the parking lot, where she found the vigilante greeting Hiram and Leroy. Rachel smiled, quickly hugged her parents, who then made room for both of them.

"You were great!" Santana praised her. "You all were."

"Thanks. Well... not that great... did you notice the out-of-tune Blaine?" Rachel said in an indignant tone, which made Santana smile. "Finn ran over two of my lines and Kurt was completely scattered."

Santana rolled her eyes. But that was the Rachel she knew and it couldn't be any different.

"Rachel, you guys were great. You were perfect."

"Yeah..." Rachel gave a small smile. "Who would have thought?"

"You're here enjoying this so much. Are you still going to drop everything?"

"I am!" Rachel said decisively. "This is amateur theater here and will never cease to be seen as such. I need to grow up. I need to get out of this city and try new scales, new challenges."

"I understand you."

"Is that so? Are you really going to stay? "

"It's not yet my time to leave. I have a job to complete in this city, and I have a diploma to conquer. There are other things besides the vigilante."

"I know."

"When are you leaving?"

"Next week. Dad's going to rent a studio apartment for me to stay for at least three months. It's the deadline I've asked for until I can establish myself. If I can not, I'll come back and start over."

"It seems to be a responsible plan."

"You have to have some assurances." Rachel leaned in the car next to Santana. "Brittany is also leaving this town, which means you have to take extra care. Promise?"

"I'm not alone anymore. There's a team with me."

"Even so..."

"I'll take extra care. Promise."

"Thanks."

"And as for you, don't forget your workouts and don't neglect your training. I'll be here if you need help."

Rachel nodded and kissed Santana's lips. It was just a peck, but full of meaning. She went back inside the theater. Santana sighed. Her waiting might be longer than she thought.

Santana got into her old car and drove to the Conde building. She picked up the elevator and squeezed the top floor, which opened onto the terrace. Upon entering the apartment, she found Marley already connecting the equipment.

"Matt got in touch. He said he's going to leave Quinn and Beth at home and then he'll give you some help. The others are on standby in case of emergency."

"Any calls?" Santana asked as she headed for the bedroom.

"Calm night, for now."

"The nights are never so calm in this city."

Santana left the room already dressed in her new all-black uniform, much like what Grant used to wear. She picked up a phone and put it in her ear, where she could hear all the directions given by Marley. Her clothing also had a small flag that allowed the watchtower on duty (they took turns in that role Marley, Mercedes and Quinn) could know where the vigilante was.

"Ready?" Marley asked.

"Always!"

Santana put on the mask, ran toward the terrace, and jumped toward the neighbouring building. The vigilante had begun to patrol.

THE END

…

 **Author's final notes:**

I had written a "second season" of this fanfiction in Portuguese. If anyone has an interest in reading in English, let me know.


End file.
